


for the kingdom

by magnificentbirb



Series: crowns, gods, and kings [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band), Stray Kids (Band), The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: ... sorta, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Blood and Violence, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Game of Thrones-esque, Gen, M/M, MAMA Inspired, Pirates and Warriors and Royals OH MY, Political Intrigue, but remove all the bad stuff and add in greek gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: “The House of Hades bows to no one." Hongjoong looks side-long at Chan, his eyes flashing in the firelight. “Death will never be ruled by the sun.”Three houses, a single throne, and the risks that will decide it all.
Relationships: Choi San/Hwang Hyunjin, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: crowns, gods, and kings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094216
Comments: 94
Kudos: 283





	for the kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> yes hello welcome i need to lie down
> 
> but first there are a couple of things i'd like to say!
> 
> 1) i wrote this in a fugue state over the course of basically a week and a half after being incredibly inspired by MAMA. it was beta'ed by one of my besties (eternal gratitude to her always), and if there are any major inaccuracies or issues, then they're entirely on me and i'm sorry.
> 
> 2) this is my first time writing for the boyz and stray kids! please be kind ;w;
> 
> 3) i tagged the members i would consider to be "main" characters in this fic, but many more make quicker cameos or are mentioned. i'm sorry i couldn't give everyone equal screen time - i had 27 good boys to work with, and it just didn't feel feasible in what i had planned. 
> 
> without any further ado, enjoy~!

**for the kingdom**

_qui fert pondus coronae velit_

Mist rolls over the hillside, chill and damp in the early morning, and Hyunjin tugs his jacket tighter, grumbling under his breath. If Chan wanted to have a clandestine meeting in the freezing cold before any normal person should even be awake, then he should damn well be here himself.

“It’s just because I trust you so much,” Chan said when they were planning the evening before, clapping Hyunjin heartily on the shoulder while Hyunjin was still staring down at his right hand, which had just betrayed him by throwing paper when he should have thrown stone. “You’ll represent our House well. Just remember what we talked about.”

“Give no quarter,” Hyunjin recited, scowling at his commander. “Accept nothing but equal partnership. Do not trust them.”

Chan squeezed Hyunjin’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

So now here Hyunjin stands, freezing cold, alone in a small copse of trees near the agreed upon meeting place. He can see the dim outline of the abandoned acropolis just up the hill, fog swirling through the ancient crumbled gates. He wonders vaguely whether their tentative allies are also waiting to approach, keeping watch from somewhere else along the hillside, unwilling to make themselves vulnerable by being the first to break cover. Hyunjin hazards a glance over his shoulder, and his nerves ease a bit when he spies a familiar glint of steel from further back in the trees: Changbin, signaling that he is in position. (Hyunjin should have known that Chan wouldn’t send any of them alone, not when they were meeting with such a dangerous House.)

A short, sharp whistle carries on the wind, and Hyunjin whips his head around to watch the acropolis. Out of the nearest misty doorway steps a dark silhouette, movements graceful even from a distance despite what looks like a large fur coat and hefty boots. The figure cocks his head expectantly, and then leans against the doorway, clearly waiting.

Hyunjin lets out a short breath, reaches back to touch the dual blades lashed onto his back (just for reassurance, hopefully not because they’ll be needed), and then steps out of the trees, climbing the hill to meet one of their new allies. He half expects to feel an arrow in his back before he even reaches the acropolis, but he makes it there unharmed and finally gets a good look at the pirate waiting for him.

The man is slim and striking, with hair dark as pitch and high cheekbones. He watches Hyunjin approach with almost insulting nonchalance, his head tilted back, eyes hooded. He looks unfairly warm in his dark fur coat, his hands shoved casually into the pockets, and Hyunjin glares at him for that alone as he shivers in his much thinner red leather coat.

“Pirate,” Hyunjin says, by way of greeting.

The man smirks at him, showing off dimples. “Soldier.”

“Are you alone?” Hyunjin says, glancing around the apparently abandoned acropolis.

“As alone as you are,” the man says, and Hyunjin doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick to the trees beyond Hyunjin’s shoulder, where Changbin is standing guard out of sight.

“I believe you have a message for me,” Hyunjin says, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s partly to look intimidating, partly to get warm.

“My captain sent word to your commander,” the man says. “He is open to an alliance between our Houses, if certain conditions are met.”

“And what might those conditions be?”

“One,” the man says, lifting a finger. Hyunjin notes the silver rings on his fingers, snakelike and twisting, with delicate chains disappearing beneath the cuff of his coat. It’s a strangely pretty accessory for a pirate; he must be high-ranking in the House. “We do not take orders from you, and in exchange, you will not be expected to take orders from us. This is an equal partnership. All decisions will be agreed upon by both my captain and your commander. The House of Hades refused to kneel for the throne, and we will not kneel to you. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Hyunjin says, mentally checking that off. “What else?”

“Two.” The pirate lifts another finger. “You do not question our methods. There are times we will need to work on our own, and you must understand that we play by different rules than your House. You will not interfere.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. That proposal sounds… dangerous. He bites the inside of his cheek for a moment, thinking. He’s also testing to see if he can make the pirate fidget, but the pirate is irritatingly unfazed, staring down Hyunjin with sharp eyes, waiting for his agreement.

“We will not interfere so long as your ‘methods’ do not endanger us or our mission,” Hyunjin says at last. “Fair?”

The pirate is silent for a moment, completely still, and then he says, a bit reluctantly, “Fair.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Three.” A third finger. “This alliance lasts only until the current monarchy is destroyed. After that, we break all allegiance, and may the strongest win.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. His hands twitch, eager to reach for his swords. The pirate does not look to be armed, but Hyunjin has heard the tales; he knows that the House of Hades are deadly, ruthless, out for blood. Chan knew that, too—knew that eventually, despite any alliance, no matter how tentative, they would be pitted against each other for the crown. 

A kingdom cannot have two kings.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin says, firm.

The pirate eyes him for a moment, and then nods, apparently satisfied. He smiles, then, a strangely sweet expression on what was such an intimidating face, and uses his shoulders to shove himself away from the doorway, approaching Hyunjin with his palms out, apparently a show of peace.

“Welcome to the team, then, soldier,” the pirate says, and holds out a hand. “My name is San.”

Hyunjin eyes that silver-ringed hand warily, and then he steels himself and grips it, unable to resist putting a bit more strength into the hold than he normally would. This apparently pleases the pirate, who grins at him and squeezes back just as hard.

“I’m Hyunjin,” Hyunjin says. He lifts his chin, indicating the shadow waiting further back inside the ruins of the acropolis, which Hyunjin noticed about a minute ago. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah.” San glances over his shoulder as he drops Hyunjin’s hand. “That’s Jongho. He’s here for moral support. Wave at our new allies, Jongho-ya!”

A broad-shouldered man in a long black coat steps out of the foggy shadows. His hair is dyed crimson, his eyes lined in coal. He makes a face at his grinning companion, then gives a lackluster wave.

“And do I get to meet your stoic guardian?” San says.

Hyunjin grits his teeth and calls over his shoulder, “Changbin, say hello.”

“Hello,” comes the distant, deadpan response, and San beams at something over Hyunjin’s shoulder, which Hyunjin assumes is Changbin reluctantly stepping out of the trees.

“Well, we’re both apparently terrible at following rules,” San says, clearly referencing the orders from both his captain and Chan that the emissaries were to meet alone. “I have a feeling we’ll get along swimmingly.”

“Should be a very entertaining partnership,” Hyunjin says dryly. 

“I think that’s all we have to cover this morning.” San slips his hands back into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the chill. “Expect a raven later today with plans for a more formal meeting. My captain is eager to meet your commander in person.”

Hyunjin gives a sharp nod. “We’ll await your message.”

San backs away slowly towards the acropolis, his steps smooth, his lips curled into a smile. 

“Have a lovely day, Hyunjin-ah,” he says. “And stay warm. You might want to invest in a better coat.”

And with that, the pirate grins and turns away, vanishing with his silent companion into the fog.

Hyunjin stares after them for a moment, jaw tight, hands clenched in irritation. He hears quiet footsteps approaching him from behind, and barely looks around when Changbin touches his shoulder, fingers cold even through the fabric of Hyunjin’s jacket.

“Well?” Changbin says, voice low. “What do you think?”

Hyunjin scowls. “I hate them.”

*

“They’re gonna kill us.”

Wooyoung says it almost casually just before he knocks back a long swig of his drink, his eyes closing, leaning so far back in his seat that he almost bumps into Yunho’s chest.

Hongjoong lets out a barely audible sigh. He expected this reaction when he told the crew his plan to ally themselves with the rebellious House of Ares, but he hadn’t expected it to lead immediately to such blatant pessimism.

“We don’t know that,” Hongjoong says.

“Sure we do.” This time it’s Mingi, who speaks from his place near the doorway of the galley, leaning against the solid wall of the ship, arms crossed over his chest. “They’re warriors. Killers. They literally train for their entire lives to kill people like us, and you know their commander probably wants the throne. Why wouldn’t they turn on us as soon as the House of Helios is brought down?”

“I’m not saying that we won’t inevitably end up at odds with each other,” Hongjoong says. “I’m saying that they won’t be able to kill us that easily.”

“We’re not fighters, Hongjoong,” Yeosang says, his voice low. “Not like they are.”

“Maybe not, but who says we need to use their tactics?” Hongjoong leans forward over the table, meeting the eye of every member of his crew. “We win by our own methods. We steal. We cheat. We use magic. We kill quietly, in the shadows, only trusting each other, and that’s how we’ll do our business here. An alliance with some soldiers won’t change that. It’ll just help us against the royals. That’s all.”

“So what, we’re using them as cannon fodder?” Yunho says.

“We’re using them as a shield,” Mingi says. Hongjoong looks up at him, relieved to see the glimmer of realization in Mingi’s eye, that familiar spark of enthusiasm when a plot starts to come together. “That’s the plan, right? They do the dirty work out in the open, we do the dirty work in the shadows.”

“Basically, yes,” Hongjoong says.

“And they agreed to that?” Yunho asks, brow furrowing. “To being the crown’s main target, once the shit starts to fly?”

“Not in those exact words,” San says, making meaningful eye contact with Hongjoong from his seat in the corner. Hongjoong remembers hearing San’s report of the meeting with the House of Ares’s representative—Hyunjin—the way they both carefully measured their words, both parties trying not to give too much on either side. Hongjoong trusts San implicitly, hence why he sent him as their emissary, but he wonders just how much might have slipped between the lines of that verbal agreement. Alliances are tricky, especially in their fledgling stages, and especially between pirates (notoriously, unashamedly self-serving) and traitors (although Hongjoong wonders whether these particular soldiers have even labeled themselves as such, or whether they believe that they’re looking to usurp the throne for some misplaced idea of justice).

There’s too much riding on this tentative alliance, and Hongjoong will feel better once he’s had a chance to feel out the other party in person.

“What do we know about the high-ranking members of the House?” Yeosang turns to Seonghwa, eyebrow raised. “You’ve been using your familiars to spy, right?”

“There are eight in the commander’s inner circle,” Seonghwa says. He taps one finger on the whorled old wood of their table, looking thoughtful. “Those are the ones we’ll be dealing with. The commander, Bang Chan… he’s dangerous, to say the least. He has countless kills under his belt and the scars to prove it. The others are similarly skilled, and they would all die for their commander, and they have legions under their command, the majority of whom will follow their own House, not the crown.” Seonghwa pauses, pursing his lips. “They’ll be a force to reckon with, once we get to that point.”

“There has to be a weak link in the inner circle,” Mingi says. “Seonghwa-hyung, can you send one of your birds to get more details on each member of the squad?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa says.

“And if there isn’t a weak link?” Wooyoung says.

“Then we deal with them all as ruthlessly as we always would have,” Hongjoong says. “Listen. We have to go into this assuming that they’re as strong as, if not stronger than, us. They have their strength on land, we have our fleet. We can make this work in our favor, as long as we stay one step ahead. In the end, it’s just us, just like it’s always been.”

The crew go silent for a moment, the only sounds the gentle lapping of waves on the hull of the _Mist_ and the subtle patter of rain on the wood outside.

Finally, San stands, stretching languorously before stepping over to the table, where he holds out a hand, palm down.

“Eight makes one team,” he says with a gentle smile, so familiar to Hongjoong, and yet sometimes still so strange when Hongjoong considers all of the blood on those delicate hands. 

But this is his San, and this is his crew, so Hongjoong brushes that thought away as he always does (the same way he brushes away the lives Seonghwa’s magic has taken, or the lives Wooyoung’s blades have taken, or the lives Hongjoong has taken himself), and places his hand on top of San’s with a smile. The others all shift forward to join, and Hongjoong looks at each of them, memorizing their faces like always, his precious crew.

“Eight makes one team,” he says, and their voices echo him, a gentle chorus that makes Hongjoong’s heart soar.

*

The arena echoes with the clacking of spears. Chan walks the perimeter, hands linked behind his back, eyes sharp as he watches his men. Jisung meets Chan’s eye with a crooked grin and almost misses a block that would have knocked him to his knees. Chan smirks as he hears Seungmin, Jisung’s sparring partner, laugh.

“Again,” Chan calls when the squad finishes that round of drills, and he’s pleased to hear not a single sound of complaint, only a unified war cry that shudders off the empty stands raised like a fortress around them.

“Sir.” Minho steps up beside Chan, mouth pressed into a grim line. “They’re watching.”

“I know.” Chan makes a point of not looking up to the top of the stands, where he knows Captain Kim Hongjoong is lounging with half of his pirate crew, the other half off doing gods only know what crimes. Chan saw the leader of the House of Hades enter the arena about half an hour ago with his three tallest crew members, including the pretty one, the one they call the Dragon, decked out elegantly in dark feathers and a long, sweeping cape. Chan knows little about him. He knows he’s some sort of sorcerer, knows that he’s feared as deadly even within his own House and that his captain is particularly protective of him, but Chan has never spoken with him, never managed to get a feel for who he really is.

Chan hates unknowns.

“What should we do?” Minho asks, glancing nervously up at the pirates.

“What do you mean?” Chan says, deliberately casual despite the way his hands clench behind his back. “They’re our allies, at least for now. Let them watch.”

Minho looks less than pleased with that order, but he inclines his head. “Yes, sir.”

Minho slips back into ranks, and Chan continues his patrol around the arena, calling out critiques and encouragement as needed. He kicks at Jeongin’s heel, correcting his stance. He ruffles Felix’s hair, making the young man grin. It’s only when Chan finally turns the corner in the arena that he lets himself look up.

The pirates are an intimidating presence, Chan will give them that. Hongjoong sits slumped in the stone stands like he owns the place, clad in an overlarge fur coat, his dark hair slicked back and messy, sharp eyes fixed on Chan’s squad. Gleaming chains hang from his ears and around his neck, and a black metal pauldron graces his right shoulder, embossed with the House of Hades’s sigil, the three-headed wolf of their god woven intricately into a compass design. Chan can’t see it clearly from this distance, of course, but he knows it’s there; he’s committed it to memory, ever since his father first told him stories of the God of Death’s fleet, dark pirate crews harrowing the nearby seas, sailing beneath the black banner of their god.

Beside Hongjoong sits his sorcerer, posture prim compared to his captain’s casual sprawl. The sorcerer ( _Seonghwa_ , Chan’s memory supplies) looks bored, his chin pillowed on one fist. He seems to be deep in conversation with the dark-haired first mate, Yunho, who is sitting on the sorcerer’s other side, looking large and dangerous in a broad-shouldered black cloak. (Chan actually rather likes the first mate, after their brief meeting almost two weeks ago, finding Yunho’s congenial disposition charming, which might prove to be inconvenient once King Juyeon and his retinue have been deposed and Chan finds himself inevitably facing the pirate crew in battle.)

Standing at attention behind his captain, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the drills going on below him, stands Mingi. Chan’s gut twists as he notes how closely Mingi is watching the drills. Mingi is another mystery in the pirate crew, but Chan knows that Hongjoong considers him their top strategist, and that level of focus can’t bode well for any future battles between their Houses.

“Minho,” Chan calls, and Minho is at his side in a flash, sweating slightly from the drills, spear in hand. Chan jerks his head towards the pirates. “See what they want, will you?” 

“You want me to kick them out?” Minho sounds downright gleeful at the idea, and Chan shoots him a warning look.

“No.” Chan glances up at the pirates and finds Hongjoong watching him with an unreadable expression. Chan absently swipes a hand over the scar bisecting his left eye, a nervous habit. “But I want you to make them squirm, if you can. Make them tell you why they’re here. Take Hyunjinnie with you.”

Minho’s smirk would look right at home beneath a mask of his enemy’s blood. “Yes, sir.”

Chan continues monitoring his squad’s drills, still making his unhurried way around the perimeter of the arena, but from the corner of his eye, he watches as Minho taps Hyunjin on the shoulder and the two of them make the slow climb to the top of the arena, Minho still with a spear in hand, Hyunjin with one of his sabers, the naked blade gleaming in the early morning light. Chan watches the pirates as his men approach, notes the way Hongjoong sits up slightly, the way Yunho and Seonghwa stop talking, the small step forward Mingi takes, placing him closer to his captain, the better to defend him, should the need arise.

“Seungmin, mind your form,” Chan calls out, catching Seungmin in a misstep, and he’s briefly distracted by Seungmin grumbling at him before he’s able to look back up to the pirates.

Chan pauses as soon as he looks up, surprised to see the pirate crew all on their feet, the first mate and sorcerer even bowing politely to Minho and Hyunjin as they start filing out of the arena. Chan frowns, wondering what transpired, and then Hongjoong meets his eye and grins, flashing Chan a jaunty salute. A shiver runs down Chan’s spine.

“Why’re they leaving?” Felix steps briefly out of formation, his light hair sticking to his forehead.

“I think they got whatever they needed,” Chan says. He watches the pirates go, long black coats swirling around their legs. Chan actually feels a bit more anxious once they’re out of sight. He’d rather know where they are, what they’re up to.

“Should we follow them?” Felix asks. 

“Not today,” Chan says. “Nothing will change today.” He forces a smile for Felix. “And you’re not getting out of drills that easily. Back in formation. We’re continuing.”

Felix rolls his eyes even as he obeys, and Chan lets out a breath, taking up his pacing again. The back of his neck itches with the strange sensation that they’re still being watched. He scans the empty stands, the cloudy sky. A raven soars far overhead, circling the arena once before it lets out a squawk and wings away, out of sight.

Chan watches it go, suspicion making his skin cold.

If he sees the raven again, he’ll put an arrow through its eye.

*

Sangyeon’s heels click against the polished marble floors of the castle, echoing loudly in the silence of the night. His heart is racing, and he tries not to let his nerves show in his steps, just in case any servants or guards happen by. He holds a crumpled sheet of parchment in one hand and prays that the sweat on his palms doesn’t dampen it too badly.

The throne room is dark when he reaches it, lit sparingly by a few guttering candles. Shadows loom overhead, the vaulted ceiling barely visible in the gloom. Sangyeon slows slightly once he enters the room. Far across the hall, the throne is occupied, as he suspected it would be, by a white- and gold-clad figure slumped low in the seat, one leg kicked over the side. Candles flicker around the dais, reflecting off of the gilded sun emblazoned on the wall behind the throne and casting shadows over the figure in the throne.

“Juyeon,” Sangyeon calls, quietly.

The figure shifts, handsome head turning to face Sangyeon. His lips twist into a crooked smile.

“Try again,” he says, his voice lilting jokingly, drunkenly.

Sangyeon presses his lips together and crosses the room. He can smell the wine from here, can see the toppled chalice at the base of the throne, red wine pooling on white and gold marble.

“Your Majesty,” Sangyeon says, the words slightly bitter in his mouth. “We have a problem.”

Juyeon lets his head fall back, scarlet-dyed hair falling back from his forehead. “Can’t it wait? I’m a bit busy.”

“No, you’re not, and no, it can’t.” Sangyeon steps forward, irritation burning away some of his nerves. He climbs the stairs of the dais until he’s standing over his king, scowling. He lifts the crumpled parchment and drops it onto Juyeon’s chest. “Younghoon sent word from the border. There are rumors that the House of Hades is on the move. The _Mist_ has made berth just south of here.”

That gets Juyeon’s attention. He opens his eyes and straightens in the throne, catching the parchment before it tumbles from his chest. 

“How accurate do we think these rumors are?” he asks, scanning Younghoon’s missive with narrowed eyes. 

“The intel comes from one of Hyunjae’s spies,” Sangyeon says. “They haven’t led us astray yet.”

Juyeon lets his hand drop to his lap, rubbing a thumb over the piece of parchment. Despite the liquor flushing his cheeks, there is calculation in those glimmering eyes, the same calculation that landed him the throne he’s sitting on almost three years ago.

“Do we have troops available to spare?” Juyeon asks at length.

Sangyeon considers. “There are a few squads training with the House of Ares down south. They should be returning from their training mission soon and could easily be diverted.”

“Who’s in command of that mission?”

“Bang Chan.”

Juyeon hums, looking thoughtful. His hand clenches around the parchment, crumpling it further. “See to it, then. The pirates have no place here, and especially not the crew of the _Mist_. Chase them back to their islands.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.” Sangyeon bows at the waist, and then he pauses, his brow furrowing. “Just to clarify, are you recommending the use of lethal force?”

Juyeon tilts his head, the corner of his mouth turned up in a cheshire smirk. “Would you not?”

“That depends,” Sangyeon says carefully. “Has the House of Hades committed any crime against us?”

“I’m not sure.” Juyeon relaxes back into the throne, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you really want to give them the chance?”

“Your Majesty, if you attack another House without provocation, it could be seen as an open declaration of—” 

“Tell the commander to use whatever force he deems necessary,” Juyeon says, waving a hand in clear dismissal. “If that means killing some pirates, then so be it. They invaded our lands first. Now go, please. I was having a nice evening.”

Sangyeon bows again, and then turns to leave. He flexes his hands at his sides as he steps into the shadows of the hall, his footsteps echoing, mind racing. 

“Sangyeon.”

Juyeon’s voice cuts through the quiet, stopping Sangyeon in his tracks. He turns back slightly, just enough to see Juyeon sitting on the throne, candlelit and alone.

“Do you trust me?” Juyeon asks, barely a whisper in the giant hall.

Sangyeon swallows. He turns to face his king fully and folds himself into a low bow, closing his eyes and begging silent forgiveness from Helios as he lies.

“Yes.”

*

The air smells like blood.

San swipes the back of his hand over his brow, smearing sweat and gore across his skin. His breath comes in heavy gasps, and the glaive feels like lead in his grip, the blade gleaming red. The field around him is quiet for now, golden-uniformed bodies bleeding out into the ground at his feet, turning the dirt to mud. San sees Yunho nearby, watches as he slits the throat of a screaming soldier and lets the body drop. Yunho meets San’s eye, and they exchange a brief nod before running back into the fray, San’s muscles screaming.

The attack came at dawn. The _Mist_ was in harbor off the coast of a nearby port town, and San and Wooyoung were just heading into town to retrieve some supplies when the first arrow sank into the ground at Wooyoung’s feet, the only warning they received before they were ambushed by a couple dozen uniformed soldiers, clad in golden leather, the intertwined sun and snake of Helios emblazoned on their chests.

Wooyoung screamed, the sound carrying easily to their ship moored nearby; another arrow sliced his cheek, drawing a line of blood; and then chaos descended.

San barely remembers when he picked up the glaive he’s carrying now, but there’s a bronze owl sigil embossed on the handle near the grip, vaguely familiar. San catches sight of Hongjoong fighting off to his right, the captain’s hair still mussed with sleep, his only armor a dark shirt of chainmail. An arrow takes Hongjoong’s opponent in the throat, sending the soldier toppling to the ground with a choked gurgle, and San follows the arrow’s path back to a small stand of trees, where Yeosang is well hidden, sniping their opponents with a crossbow. San watches as another screaming soldier is engulfed in shimmering black smoke, Seonghwa’s work from back on the ship; once the black smoke retreats, there’s nothing left of the soldier except a singed spot of grass.

An unfamiliar voice roars to San’s right, and San barely manages to skip out of range of a deadly spear thrust. He bats the spear away with his glaive and finds himself facing a tall golden-clad warrior in a gleaming bronze helmet, teeth bared from behind a scraggly beard. San grits his teeth and slides into what he thinks is a decent defensive position (he’s never fought with a glaive before, so he’s basically just winging it in the hopes that he doesn’t die), but before the soldier even gets a chance to charge, a sword pierces the soldier’s throat from behind, and the soldier chokes, blood flowing from his mouth. The sword retreats as quickly as it appeared, and the tall soldier collapses into a dying heap on the grass.

Stunned, San stares at the dead soldier, and then at the other soldier standing above the body, blade wet with fresh blood.

It’s Hyunjin, a sword in each hand.

“Oh,” San says, a bit breathlessly. 

Hyunjin swipes his sword through the air, whipping some of the gore from the blade. His long hair is mussed and bloodstained, tugged back into a messy half-tail, and San notes that his scarlet uniform is emblazoned with a bronze owl—the symbol of Ares, the same owl engraved on San’s stolen glaive—not the golden sun of Helios.

Hyunjin steps forward, and San raises the glaive, wary.

Hyunjin stops, holding his hands out palm forward despite the sword he holds in each, the same way San did when they first met.

“You all right?” Hyunjin asks, voice low and strangely calm despite the battle raging around them. San nods, wordless, and Hyunjin seems satisfied. “We’ll get you out of this alive,” he says. “All of you.”

San nods again, slightly stunned, and then Hyunjin turns away, apparently to rejoin the fight, but he doesn’t stray too far, keeping close to San. It’s only then that San notices the way the other red-uniformed soldiers have taken up positions beside his own crew. Changbin stays near Wooyoung, the two of them keeping a stable defensive barrier against the gold-uniformed soldiers attacking them. Another half-familiar soldier in red, light-haired and freckled, keeps close to Mingi, wielding a spear with frightening accuracy. 

And there, across the battlefield, stands Commander Bang Chan, clad in a bulky red coat, scarred and broad-shouldered and a bit terrifying. He positions himself back to back with Hongjoong, each of them with a bloodied sword in hand, and San realizes that Chan’s House—the red-clad soldiers of Ares—are planning to fight every royal soldier on the field to protect their new pirate allies.

“San!” Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, breaking San from his daze, and San ducks out of the way just as a sword slices through the air above his head. He swings the glaive in an upwards arc, aiming at his attacker, and feels the satisfying, terrible pressure of the blade catching flesh and _rending_. San finishes the sweep of the glaive with a cry, his arm muscles burning, and steps back, panting, as the enemy soldier collapses to the grass. 

San finds Hyunjin staring at him, a bit wild-eyed with what could almost be concern, but then Hyunjin schools his features back into professional detachment, and the moment is gone.

It doesn’t take long for San to lose himself again in the whirlwind of blood and violence. He takes a blow to the arm and needs to exchange the two-handed glaive for a sword as blood starts to flow from the gash, making his hands slick. He ends up too close to a soldier who bursts into enchanted flames and has to duck away quickly before Seonghwa’s spell singes his hair. He shoves his sword into the stomach of a soldier who was just getting ready to spear Hyunjin, and whirls away to face another attacker just as Hyunjin fixes him with a stunned look, his pale eyes wide.

What feels like a lifetime later, San finally sinks to his knees in the muddied field, supporting himself on his stolen bloodsoaked blade. His vision is wavering and his entire left arm is awash in his own blood, but he manages to look around and count six black-clad figures still standing on the field, each flanked by soldiers clad in red with the sigil of Ares on their chests. The remaining members of the sun-emblazoned squad of soldiers kneel in a trembling, exhausted pack near Bang Chan’s feet, unarmed, hands raised in surrender. Relieved, San lets his eyes droop closed and slumps onto his side, hardly caring that he ends up half on top of a corpse.

“San-ah!” Wooyoung’s cry is loud in the crisp dawn air, and San hears someone drop to the ground beside him before a gentle hand brushes hair back from his forehead. “San-ah, wake up!”

“‘m’wake,” San mumbles, but he’s not sure whether Wooyoung hears him.

“Your sorcerer.” That’s Hyunjin’s voice, also close. Another set of hands gingerly lifts San’s injured arm, and damn, that should hurt, shouldn’t it? “Can he heal? If not, we can bring San back to our base and get Felix to take a look. He’s not very powerful, but he’s had plenty of practice healing up war wounds like this.”

“Seonghwa can heal him.” Hongjoong is nearby too, now, his voice tight and breathless. “But thank you. We’ll take him back to our ship. San-ah, how’re you doing?”

“Great,” San croaks, trying to pitch his voice a bit higher, and it must work, because he hears Wooyoung let out a relieved breath.

“Yunho,” says Hongjoong, and San can already feel familiar arms sliding beneath his back and knees, hefting him up from the ground.

“I have him, captain,” says Yunho, a bit strained, but his arms are steady around San, and his chest is comfy, so San knows he’s in good hands. 

“We should talk once you get him settled.” San barely recognizes that voice. He cracks his eyes open and sees Bang Chan standing nearby, blood-spattered and looking strangely calm as he addresses Hongjoong. San supposes this is just another day for him, which is a bit of a horrifying thought, considering someday soon the blood staining Bang Chan’s skin might belong to San’s crewmates. 

“You think the royals suspect us already?” Hongjoong says grimly.

“They might,” Bang Chan says. “But the king is also just… capricious, sometimes. He might have just been annoyed that you approached their shores. Regardless, we’ll need to figure out our next steps.”

Hongjoong nods, his gaze distant and thoughtful. “Fine,” he says, and then, after a moment of hesitation, adds, “Thank you. For your help here. Let us get San fixed up, and then we can talk. Where are you based?”

“Just outside of town,” Chan says. “We’ll start getting this cleaned up, and then we’ll meet you at our encampment, once your crew is ready.”

“Seonghwa can help with that, too,” Hongjoong says, a bit reluctantly. “The clean-up. Once he’s done healing San.”

A moment of thoughtful quiet, and then Bang Chan says, “Your Dragon is very useful.”

“We think so.” San can hear the fanged smile in Hongjoong’s words, just this side of a threat, and apparently the commander hears it, too, because he backs off soon after.

They exchange meeting places, and then Yunho starts walking, and San’s arm throbs, and everything becomes a bit hazy.

The last thing San notices before he closes his eyes again is Hyunjin, standing off to the side with Wooyoung, watching with an unfathomable gaze as San gets carried away.

*

“Quit fidgeting,” Felix whispers, placing a quelling hand on Changbin’s right knee.

“I do not fidget,” Changbin mutters, a blatant lie, but he’ll be damned if he takes it back. 

Felix just presses his lips together in that little squish smile he does when he thinks Changbin is being ridiculous and pats Changbin’s knee.

“They’re late.” That’s Seungmin, speaking up from Felix’s other side. Seven of them are gathered in Chan’s grand meeting tent, scarlet-walled and impressive, with a large wooden table and chairs set in its center and wrought iron braziers burning away the chilly morning air on all sides. The soldiers have taken the chairs on the far side of the table, facing the tent’s entrance and the eight empty chairs awaiting their pirate guests.

“We didn’t exactly settle on a precise meeting time,” Chan admits grudgingly from his seat at the center of the table. He leans forward with his elbows on the table, eyes on the tent’s entrance, fingers laced in front of his lips. 

They’ve all had time to get cleaned up since the fight that morning, and the prisoners have been squared away, bound and guarded on the far side of their encampment by other soldiers of Ares. The corpses were spirited away from the battlefield by the pirate sorcerer’s magic, reappearing neatly lined up in a clearing just outside the nearby coastal town, where some of Chan’s men were already preparing a large mass grave.

Changbin shivers slightly, thinking about the glimpses he caught of the Dragon’s powers during the fight that morning. The House of Ares has never had many sorcerers, and when they do appear, they’re usually middling mages, at best: simple healers, like Felix, or seers, used in predicting battle outcomes and firstborns. True sorcerers—sorcerers like Park Seonghwa—are only legends to most of the world. They are special to the God of Death and tend to only appear once every fifty years or so, exclusively in the House of Hades, and even then, they generally do not remain, choosing instead to wander the world, seeking power.

Changbin wonders vaguely what Captain Kim Hongjoong did to make his sorcerer stay.

“It’s been almost two hours,” Seungmin says again, almost a whine, but he subsides when Chan shoots him a look.

“They had injuries to deal with,” Chan says. “And they were awoken by the attack. They probably need to regroup, and I won’t begrudge them that. We’re not in a hurry, anyway. The crown can’t know yet that their plan already failed.”

“So you do think the crown suspected them?” Minho says.

“I don’t know for sure,” Chan says, “but it’s safest to assume that the royals have their suspicions. The _Mist_ doesn’t often make berth this far south. The House of Helios has reason to be wary of its sudden appearance.”

As if on cue, Jeongin peeks into the tent, holding the entrance flap open.

“They’re here,” he says, and then Captain Kim Hongjoong steps past him, hair slicked back, his eyes lined in coal, wearing an impressive fur coat and dark gleaming armor, a shining black skull carved into the pauldron on his shoulder. He casts an impressive figure in the tent, no longer the bloodstained, bare-armed young man Changbin remembers from the battlefield that morning.

He looks like a king.

Hongjoong is flanked by four similarly black-clad members of his House, the others presumably waiting with rest of the crew back on the _Mist_ : the tall strategist, Mingi; the blond sniper Changbin remembers from that morning; the one called San, apparently fully healed; and lastly, long dark cloak sweeping the ground, the sorcerer, Seonghwa.

Changbin tenses as soon as the sorcerer ducks gracefully into the tent. Felix pats his leg, trying to be reassuring, no doubt, and then Chan stands to greet the House of Hades, so the rest of them all get to their feet, too.

“Welcome,” Chan says, holding out a hand that Hongjoong clasps in his own, briefly. “Have a seat.”

“What, no refreshments?” Hongjoong says with a rakish grin, settling easily into the seat directly across from Chan. Mingi takes the seat at Hongjoong’s right hand, with Yeosang beside him, and Seonghwa and San settle into the chairs to Hongjoong’s left, across from Hyunjin and Changbin. 

“This isn’t that kind of meeting,” Chan says, flashing a humorless smile. He folds his hands on the tabletop. “The House of Helios has made their move. What’s your counter?” 

Hongjoong stares at Chan, his eyes glinting. “So forward.”

Chan smiles again, darkly. “We have work to do.”

“Indeed we do.” Hongjoong leans back in the chair and props his chin on one hand, looking entirely at home. “We’ve already made our first countermove.” 

Chan’s eyes narrow dangerously. “And what was that?”

Hongjoong’s smile has fangs. “We caught a rat.”

“A spy?” Minho perks up. “How? When?”

Hongjoong gaze slides to Minho, but it’s the blond pirate who answers, his voice soft.

“About an hour ago,” he says. “I noticed him fleeing the battlefield after everything was over, so I tracked him back to one of the town’s inn’s and found him composing a letter to Hyunjae of the House of Helios.” The blond turns his gaze from Minho back to Chan. “I’m guessing that’s why the king knew that our ship was in harbor.”

Chan rubs a hand over his chin. “Where’s the spy now?”

“Yeosang brought him back to our ship,” Hongjoong says. “He’s being well taken care of there.”

Changbin has a sudden dark suspicion of what the missing members of Hongjoong’s crew might be up to. He tries not to let the realization show on his face, despite the way he keeps picturing the tall first mate handling a knife that morning with well-practiced ease, and the bloodthirsty grin on Wooyoung’s face as he drew his blade across a soldier’s throat.

“And you’ll let us know what info you get out of him, before he is… disposed of?” Chan says.

Hongjoong inclines his head. “Per our agreement, yes.” 

“Good. Thank you. That’s one potential loose end tied up, at least.” Chan takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, finally looking a bit more relaxed. “Now, to clean up the mess the crown made this morning. We’re going to need a story. The king won’t be very forgiving if we head back to the capital claiming that the pirates got away while we’re all still alive and well.”

“Won’t he?” Mingi finally speaks up, his deep voice thoughtful. “One of the missives we found in the spy’s rooms said that the orders from the king were to chase us back to our islands. Why don’t you just tell him you did that, but there were some casualties along the way?”

“Oh, fuck.” 

Every eye turns to Changbin, who realizes belatedly that he said that out loud. He clears his throat, flashing Chan an apologetic look before reluctantly continuing.

“Our orders were to bring back your head,” Changbin tells Hongjoong, who cocks an eyebrow at him, incredulous, before turning back to Chan.

“Is that true?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Chan scowls. “So if your spy is to believed, then that means—”

“There are multiple people giving orders from within the House of Helios,” Mingi says, sounding grim.

Silence settles uncomfortably in the tent, a heavy pall. Changbin watches each of the pirates in turn, their expressions a range of frustration that Changbin can’t help but mirror. If there are split factions in the House of Helios, then there’s no telling how many enemies they might have, and no way of knowing where the actual power of the crown lies.

“Jisung,” Chan says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Jisung, seated near the end of the table, jerks to attention, squaring his shoulders. “Sir.”

“Take a few of your most trusted men and ride to the capital, but don’t let anyone know you’re there,” Chan says. “Talk to your contacts in the castle. See if they have any intel on possible rifts in the House of Helios.”

Jisung stands, saluting sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“Yeosang-ah,” Hongjoong says, addressing his crewmate, but keeping his eyes on Chan, as though to gauge his reaction. “Go with them. Take Jongho with you. Keep us informed.” 

Yeosang’s gaze flicks briefly to Chan, but he inclines his head and says, “Yes, captain.” 

Chan nods tightly. “Fine. In the meantime, we might as well go with the story that you left port before we even managed to find you. That seems safest.”

“And the casualties?” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, deeper than Changbin expected, and Changbin realizes with a start that it’s the first time he’s heard the sorcerer speak. He half expected him to have some strange accent, or maybe a completely inhuman voice, but he sounds calm, normal. It’s a bit unsettling. 

“There are plenty of thieves on these roads,” Chan says with a shrug. “A large group of them felt bold, and got a bit lucky before we took them down.”

“And coincidentally slew only the soldiers bearing the sigil of Helios?” San says, raising a brow. 

“We were patrolling separately,” Chan says with a sickeningly sweet smile, and San lets out a quiet huff of laughter.

“We’ll go with that, then,” Hongjoong says. “We’ll take the _Mist_ further down the coast, away from any towns. We should have all the supplies we need for now, anyway, and you can easily contact us via raven, once we hear back from your man and Yeosang.”

“Very well.” Chan pushes away from the table and stands, a sign that the meeting has ended. Changbin immediately gets to his feet with the rest of the soldiers; the pirates are a bit slower to stand, Hongjoong looking rather amused by how quickly the soldiers all followed their commander’s lead. Chan holds out his hand again, and Hongjoong grips it. “We’ll be in touch. Jisung will be leaving within the hour.” He glances at Yeosang. “Can you be ready?”

“Of course,” says Yeosang. 

“Until later, then,” Hongjoong says, and turns to depart, his crew following suit.

They’ve barely left the tent before Felix springs into action, clamoring away from his seat and around the table.

“Where are you going?” Changbin calls after him, exasperated.

“I’ll be right back!” Felix says over his shoulder, already at the doorway of the tent. “I just want to ask that sorcerer some questions!”

“You _what?_ ” Changbin turns a horrified look on Chan, who sighs and waves a hand after Felix.

“Go with him,” he says, sounding resigned.

Changbin curses under his breath and then grabs Hyunjin’s wrist, because like hell is he facing down the Dragon with only bright-eyed, curious Felix to back him up.

Changbin drags a quietly protesting Hyunjin all the way out of the tent and to the edge of camp, where Felix has apparently caught up with the pirates. Changbin quickens his pace, not liking the sight of Felix surrounded by black-clad, smoky-eyed servants of Hades, no matter how amused they might look by his enthusiasm.

“—your arm?” Felix is asking San when Changbin and Hyunjin reach them. “I’m not a very good healer, but I’m trying to learn, so I was wondering if I could possibly take a look?”

San blinks at Felix, and then looks to the sorcerer, Seonghwa, who shrugs before turning an indulgent smile upon Felix.

“If Sani is all right with it,” he says.

“Makes no difference to me,” San says.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa says softly, reaching out to touch Hongjoong’s arm. Changbin’s eyes widen at the nickname; he would never have imagined anyone calling the feared Pirate King “Hongjoong-ah.” “We’ll catch up with you. I think we’ll be fine here for a few minutes.”

Hongjoong eyes Changbin and Hyunjin mistrustfully, but gives a reluctant nod. 

“Don’t be too long,” he says to Seonghwa, his voice oddly gentle, and then he and Mingi and Yeosang head away from the camp, leaving Seonghwa and San behind.

San slips out of the left sleeve of his dark jacket, revealing a well-toned arm, and presents his arm to Felix, who takes it in careful hands, his eyes bright with awe. 

“It’s like you were never injured,” Felix breathes. He lifts a hand, fingers hovering just over San’s unmarred skin. “May I?” he asks.

“Go nuts,” says San, seeming rather bemused by the whole ordeal, and Felix lays his hand on San’s arm, right where the wound was. 

Even Changbin has to admit that he’s impressed by the sorcerer’s skills. He can still picture the gash on San’s arm from just a few hours before, jagged and deep, painting the pirate’s entire side scarlet. That same arm is now entirely healed, not a single scar on his skin, as though the wound were never even there. 

“How long does it take you?” Hyunjin asks; Changbin looks at him in surprise, but Hyunjin is staring at San’s arm, his brow furrowed. “To heal a wound like that completely?”

“About thirty minutes,” Seonghwa says, his deep voice quiet. “Arm wounds, leg wounds… they’re easy. No internal organs to work around, just knitting skin and muscle back together.”

“Could you show me?” Felix asks, finally releasing San’s arm. “Not now, obviously, because no one needs to be healed, but… someday? I think having a teacher would be helpful.”

Seonghwa is quiet for a moment, watching Felix curiously as San shrugs back into his jacket, and then he smiles.

“I’d be happy to,” he says. 

“We should go, hyung,” San says, nudging Seonghwa’s elbow, and Seonghwa politely nods to the soldiers before they both turn away. San glances over his shoulder at them once, looking thoughtful, and then the pirates disappear into the trees at the edge of the campsite, heading back to their ship, and the sea.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Hyunjin says, “You shouldn’t get attached to them, Lix.”

“I know,” Felix says. 

“Remember what Chan said,” Hyunjin continues. “You can’t trust them, and once the House of Helios is defeated, we might need to—”

“I know, okay?” Felix snaps. “I know, I just—I want to learn how to heal, and there’s no one else to teach me. What if one of you—?” He breaks off, shoulders hunching. “I couldn’t do that,” he says, quietly. “What he did. If that happened to either of you, and we were alone on the battlefield, I wouldn’t be able to heal you in thirty minutes, and you’d bleed out. You’d die. But San…” Felix shakes his head. “San lived. Easily. They didn’t even seem all that concerned about it, they were so confident in the fact that their sorcerer could heal him. I just… I want that.” He turns a glare on Hyunjin. “And we’re not fighting them yet, so yes, I’m going to use whatever resources I have at my disposal to get better at healing, and right now, that resource is Park Seonghwa.”

“Okay,” Hyunjin says, sounding a bit chastised. “I get it, just—be careful, all right? I still don’t think we should trust them.”

“I’m always careful,” Felix says, and then turns on his heel and heads back into camp without a backwards glance.

Changbin watches him go, and then turns to Hyunjin, eyeing him closely.

“That wasn’t just for Felix, was it?” Changbin says, keeping his voice low.

Hyunjin’s hands curl into fists at his sides. 

“I didn’t expect him to save my life,” he says, quietly, and Changbin knows that he’s referring to San, whom Hyunjin was assigned to guard during the battle that morning. 

“Of course he saved your life,” Changbin says, perhaps a bit harshly. “The same way you saved his, because we’re allies. But you heard yourself. You can’t get attached to them. If you get attached, you’ll hesitate at the killing blow, and he’ll slit your throat in the end.”

Hyunjin turns a dark look on Changbin, and then turns away, back towards camp.

“I won’t hesitate,” he says, and then he follows Felix back into camp, leaving Changbin alone.

*

Sangyeon looks up from the scroll on his desk when he hears the heavy door to his office swing open, old wood creaking on its hinges. 

Hyunjae peeks inside, a small smile on his face. “I knocked, but I don’t think you heard me.”

“I didn’t. Come in.” Sangyeon sits back in his chair, lifting his arms into a stretch before waving Hyunjae inside. His spine pops, a quiet complaint to being hunched over paperwork for too many hours, but Sangyeon ignores the discomfort, as he always does. The discomfort is necessary. The kingdom won’t run itself, and Juyeon has been rather delinquent lately when it comes to the day-to-day responsibilities of kingship.

“Is this a bad time?” Hyunjae says, eyeing the large stack of unopened scrolls on Sangyeon’s desk. 

“It’s always a bad time,” Sangyeon says, but he smiles up at Hyunjae, genuinely pleased to see him. Sangyeon can’t remember the last time they actually managed to exchange more than a brief greeting, Hyunjae too busy in his role as spymaster, Sangyeon too distracted by his own worries. “But I could use a break. What can I do for you?”

Hyunjae’s expression sobers, and he lowers himself onto the edge of the simple wooden chair in front of Sangyeon’s desk, his elbows on his knees, fingers linked.

“I lost contact with one of my men,” he says.

 _Shit_ , Sangyeon thinks, but he only says, “Which one?”

Hyunjae fixes him with a flat stare. “Guess.”

Sangyeon sets his jaw, his suspicions apparently correct. He reaches over to grab another scroll from the stack to his left.

“If the Pirate King got a hold of him, then I’m sorry to say that he’s probably already dead,” he says, neatly tugging free the knot keeping the scroll rolled. “Will you send another spy to the coast?”

“I actually came here to ask you whether I should,” Hyunjae says. 

Sangyeon pauses, his heart stuttering. “Why would you need to ask my permission?”

“Because rumor has it that while my spies only knew of the orders to chase the pirates back to their islands, apparently the commander of the House of Ares had orders to bring Captain Kim Hongjoong’s head back to Juyeon on a spike.” 

Sangyeon carefully sets down the scroll and folds his hands together on the desktop, looking calmly up at Hyunjae.

“And did he succeed?” he says.

“Clearly not, considering we aren’t currently at war with the House of Hades, but that’s not the point, hyung,” Hyunjae snaps. “Don’t try your innocent advisor shit on me. I’m not playing your game. Which of the orders came from Juyeon, and which came from you?” 

Sangyeon lets out a long breath, briefly dropping his head into his hands.

“Hyunjae—”

“Tell me.”

Sangyeon lifts his head to find Hyunjae watching him with fire in his eyes, his lips pressed tight, his brow dark. Sangyeon knows Hyunjae too well, knows that there’s no way he will let this go, not until he gets the information he needs. It’s one of the things that makes him such an effective spymaster. 

Sangyeon watches him for a long, pregnant moment, and then admits, quietly, “I gave the orders to kill Kim Hongjoong.”

Hyunjae closes his eyes briefly, looking resigned. “If I ask you why, would you even tell me?”

Sangyeon folds his hands in front of him again, frowning down at the scratched wood of his desk.

“I did it to save Juyeon,” he says.

“ _Gods._ ” Hyunjae rubs a tired hand over his face. “This is about the orders he sent to the other Houses, isn’t it? The demands for fealty? You’ve heard the rumblings, too.”

“He’s losing their trust,” Sangyeon says. “There’s rebellion brewing already, and if it continues to grow, we’ll be outnumbered, and he’ll be overthrown.”

“So what, you figured the House of Hades would lead the rebellion and decided to cut the head off the snake?” 

“Not exactly.” Sangyeon digs his fingernails into his own skin. “I saw two potential outcomes from sending Bang Chan to kill Kim Hongjoong. First, if Bang Chan agreed to the orders and managed to kill Hongjoong in the name of the crown, then not only would we be free of the Pirate King, but we could also use the House of Hades as an example of what happens to those who do not kneel, and quell any potential rebels before they could even make their move.”

“Or the House of Hades could have taken it as an open declaration of war and launched their fleet to destroy the capital,” Hyunjae grumbles. 

Sangyeon fixes him with a sharp look. “Not if we crushed them first. I was prepared. Where do you think Eric has been with the royal fleet for the past week?”

Hyunjae considers this, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s moot anyway,” Hyunjae says. “The Pirate King is alive and gleefully murdering my spies. So what’s the second outcome?”

“The second is what we’re facing now, and what I suspected would happen,” Sangyeon says. “Bang Chan refuses to kill Hongjoong, feeling that the order is dishonorable—”

“A giant no-no in the House of Ares,” Hyunjae drawls.

“—and is tempted into joining the brewing rebellion himself, at which point we will be forced to openly acknowledge the rebels, since the commander of our armies will have turned on us. Then we can use the excuse of Juyeon’s apparent madness, revealed through his unprovoked order to slay the head of the House of Hades, to claim that he was acting on his own and depose him of our own accord, as a united House of Helios.”

Hyunjae is shaking his head by the time Sangyeon finishes his explanation.

“So you’re betraying Juyeon to save the rest of us—”

“I’m _saving_ him,” Sangyeon insists, leaning forward over his desk. “Rebellion is coming, whether we are ready for it or not. You’re not the only one with spies, Hyunjae. I’ve known for weeks that the House of Hades was on the move, so I needed to counter. Their rebellion needed a spark to start, and I just gave it to them. Now that we know what to expect, we can handle the rebellion on our terms, get Juyeon safely away from the throne, and maybe even manage to keep our House in some sort of power.” Sangyeon takes a deep breath, feeling flushed, shaky. “We can’t win a war if multiple Houses turn on us, Hyunjae. If we don’t turn against Juyeon ourselves and insist that we will take care of him on our own terms, then the people will demand we hand him over, and they’ll crush us all afterwards. I refuse to let that happen.”

Hyunjae sweeps a hand through his hair, slumping back into his chair. “He never should have sent those orders,” he mumbles. “He never should have demanded that the other Houses kneel, if he hadn’t done that—” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sangyeon says. “The deed is done, and we can’t go back on it now. And that’s why all of his orders are now filtered through me. I’m doing my best to mitigate the damage.”

“By sending fake orders,” Hyunjae says with a humorless, crooked grin.

“If I must.” Sangyeon squeezes his folded hands tightly, fingernails digging deep into his skin. The pain is sharp. It feels deserved, but he shoves that thought away, at least while Hyunjae is still here. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Who else knows about this?” 

“Eric knows part of it,” Sangyeon says. “Jacob knows. He’s been keeping an eye on the king for the past week, making sure that Juyeon doesn’t get wind of what’s happening with the rebels to the south. Sunwoo knows. And now you.” Sangyeon forces a bitter smile. “Welcome to the stress.”

Hyunjae lets out an indelicate snort. “No kidding.” He is quiet for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, and then he asks, “Are you going to tell Juyeon what you’ve done?” 

“Someday,” Sangyeon says, his stomach twisting. “When he no longer bears the weight of the crown. When he stops looking over his shoulder for assassins. When he starts speaking to me like a friend again.”

“Do you think he will?” Hyunjae’s voice is quiet, uncharacteristically small. 

Sangyeon considers it, as he has many times over the past few months, late at night, lying awake in the dark and trying to remember the bright smile of the Juyeon he used to know, the beautiful, beloved crown prince who led the House of Helios to power.

“I’ll make sure he does,” Sangyeon says.

*

Jongho hates cities. He hates the smell, the constant bustle and noise, the way people knock into his shoulders and yell for him to buy things he doesn’t need and attempt to pick his pockets. (At least until he sends one young pickpocket away with a broken finger; the word must spread quickly after that, because he does not get targeted again.)

He tries not to focus on the constant press of humans or the squelch of mud and worse beneath his boots, and instead keeps close to Yeosang, hovering just beside his elbow, keeping his eyes sharp, watching both the crowds and their disguised soldier companions with wary mistrust.

Jisung met them on the road between the coast and the House of Ares encampment an hour after their meeting with the commander, flanked by three soldiers Jongho didn’t recognize, with horses saddled and ready to go. 

Jisung squinted at Yeosang and Jongho as they approached, one eyebrow cocked incredulously.

“You’re going to the capital,” he said to Yeosang, “the seat of power of the House of Helios, with only one man from your crew as backup?”

Yeosang gave Jisung a brittle smile, taking the reins for two of the horses. “He’ll be more than enough.”

The ride to the capital was quiet and awkward, none of them willing to attempt anything remotely resembling small talk. Jongho spent the hours-long ride exchanging glances with Yeosang, who remained irritatingly unflappable as always, seemingly right at home on a big bay stallion, his blond hair pulled back into a short tail and tucked beneath a simple dark hood. They had traded in their usual attire for plainer clothes, nothing that would draw any attention to them as members of the House of Hades in a city potentially full of enemies.

Only once they reached the white-marble city gates and stabled their horses did Jisung finally pull them aside, his jaw set, eyes determined.

“My contacts are based at a pub near the main city square,” he said quietly. “One of them says he has intel from inside the castle. We’ll head there first. Keep close.”

And so here they are, making their unhurried way through the streets of the capital, following the brown-cloaked forms of their soldier comrades. Yeosang stumbles once, briefly, and Jongho automatically catches him by the elbow, keeping him upright. 

“I’m fine,” Yeosang mutters, but he’s smiling, and Jongho just squeezes his arm.

Jisung’s pub turns out to be a quiet establishment, despite its central position in the city, and Jongho wonders vaguely whether that’s because it’s largely used as a meeting place for spies and rebels. One of Jisung’s men takes up a casual lookout position near the corner of the pub, blending right into a group of gamblers rolling dice on a small wooden board near the alleyway. The rest of them slip into the dimly lit building, and Jisung leads them to a booth in the far corner of the room, where a cloaked figure already sits, apparently waiting for them.

Jongho tenses when he sees the figure, pressing instinctively closer to Yeosang. He flexes his right hand at his side, feeling the knife hidden up his sleeve shift slightly, within easy reach.

“Who is this contact of yours?” Yeosang asks Jisung in a low voice, before they reach the table.

“An old friend,” Jisung says, and then he slides into the booth, leaning over to greet the cloaked figure.

Yeosang hesitates before sliding into the booth after him, flashing Jongho a nervous glance, but then he sighs quietly and sits. Jongho follows suit, but he stays on the edge of the bench, unwilling to get too comfortable. Jisung’s other companions have taken up posts around the bar, apparently keeping watch.

“Who’s this?” says a deep, unfamiliar voice, and Jongho looks over to see the cloaked figure peering at him and Yeosang, dark eyes gleaming from beneath the hood of his cloak. Jongho can just make out dark hair and full lips on the shadowed face, but nothing more; the man keeps himself mostly hidden. 

“Allies,” Jisung says vaguely. “I vouch for them, and so does Chan.”

The cloaked man looks unconvinced. “And you weren’t followed?”

“No,” Jisung says. “We’re clear.”

The cloaked man nods, spares another skeptical glance for Jongho and Yeosang, and then leans back against the wall, pursing his lips.

“The House of Helios knows about your rebellion, but the king doesn’t,” he says at length, his voice low, barely audible over the hum of conversation in the pub.

Jisung frowns. “So there _are_ warring factions in the castle? How many?”

“I don’t know if ‘warring’ is necessarily the word I’d choose, but yes,” says the cloaked man. “Something like that. And only two. The king, and the rest of us.”

“Is the king compromised in some way?” Yeosang asks, leaning forward over the table, his eyes shining in a way that Jongho recognizes and slightly fears; he’s out for intel and will stop at nothing until he’s satisfied.

“He has made some decisions recently that the rest of his House do not agree with,” says the cloaked man.

“The fealty orders,” Jongho says, remembering the day the House of Hades received that missive, the way Hongjoong’s entire face had changed, livid and terrifying. 

The cloaked man meets Jongho’s eye. “Among other things.”

“So he’s being kept in the dark,” Jisung says quietly. “For what, his own good? Or—”

“You’re going to use him as a scapegoat,” Yeosang says. “Once the rebels come, your House will disown him. You’ll remove him from the throne and claim your own innocence to protect the honor of your House. Is that right?”

“Wait, ‘your House’?” Jongho says, glancing between Yeosang and the cloaked man, who now looks tense, his lips pressed into a thin line beneath his hood. Yeosang looks satisfied, a hawk with a mouse beneath his talons.

“I know who you are, Kim Sunwoo,” Yeosang says, so quietly that no one beyond their table could hope to overhear. “And in the future, you might want to remove your rings.”

The cloaked man—Sunwoo—glances down at his lap, and Jongho leans back just enough to catch the gleam of a golden ring on the man’s forefinger, a serpent intertwined with a blazing sun, the sigil of the House of Helios. Sunwoo tugs his sleeves down over his hands, hiding the ring. 

“I was in a hurry,” he mutters. “ _Someone_ didn’t exactly give me enough time to make a decent excuse to leave the castle, so I had to sneak out after a council meeting.”

“You had hours to plan,” Jisung protests, scowling, and Jongho realizes that he’s the only one who didn’t know exactly who their contact was as soon as they sat down at the table.

“ _Hours_ is not enough time to come up with a story that will fool Sangyeon-hyung,” Sunwoo hisses. “Especially not now, not with—” Sunwoo waves a hand, apparently indicating their entire situation, rebels and conspiracies and “mad” king and all.

“Why are you telling us this?” Jongho asks. “Why betray your own House?”

“I don’t consider this a betrayal,” Sunwoo says, softly. “Not really. I came here hoping to make a deal. I thought that maybe if you knew that we were trying to prevent this rebellion, that we weren’t all aligned with the king, that we could—”

“Prevent rebellion?” Jongho clenches his hands in fists under the table, anger making his voice tremble. “Your House ordered the murder of our leader. If we hadn’t already allied ourselves with the House of Ares, then Hongjoong might be dead, and war would already be upon you.”

Sunwoo bites his lip. “That was… desperation. We correctly thought that Bang Chan wouldn’t go through with it, anyway, so—”

“Who sent the orders?” Jongho says.

A pause, and then Sunwoo says, quietly, “Sangyeon.”

“So not the ‘mad’ king you are setting up as your fall man?” Yeosang says. “Fascinating.”

“That ‘mad’ king is the one who now believes that there is an assassin waiting for him around every corner,” Sunwoo says, his quiet voice fierce. “That ‘mad’ king is the one who sent orders without our knowledge to every House in the kingdom demanding that they kneel to him, which is what got us into this fucking mess in the first place. We know there have been whispers of rebellion. Sangyeon was just trying to fan those whispers into cries so that we could properly deal with them on our own terms.”

“Sunwoo-ya,” Jisung says. “Would Sangyeon even accept a deal, were we to propose one? Both of our Houses would insist on surrender. You know that. Hell, they might insist on Juyeon’s death, or Sangyeon’s, once we tell them who ordered the Pirate King killed. Would your House accept those terms?”

Sunwoo is quiet for a long moment before he responds. “No. Not if it meant death.”

“This is pointless, then,” Jongho mutters, getting ready to stand, but Sunwoo slams a hand onto the table, eyes flashing.

“No, it isn’t,” he says. “You can still bring this message back to your Houses. That the House of Helios is divided, but that there are some of us who would surrender, if it came to that. Just not at the cost of our lives. Sangyeon-hyung… he still wants the crown, I think. But we might be able to convince him to let it go.” Sunwoo’s hand clenches into a fist on the table, golden ring gleaming. “Please,” he says. “Just pass on the message. That’s all I ask.”

Jisung glances at Yeosang and Jongho, eyebrows raised in question, and Yeosang gives a terse nod. Jongho just glares. He thinks he’s already made his point.

“Fine,” Jisung says. “Consider it done. But we can’t make any promises.”

“Understood.”

They depart soon after that, Yeosang and Jongho filing out of the pub with Jisung and his men following at a bit of a distance, leaving Sunwoo behind to sneak out once they’ve gone. The sun has dipped beyond the city walls by the time they step outside, casting the capital in shadow. Jongho tugs his borrowed cloak tighter around himself to stave off the early evening chill, and he’s just watching Yeosang pull his own hood up over his hair when he spies a glint of steel in a nearby alleyway. 

Jongho barely thinks. He grabs a fistful of Yeosang’s cloak and tugs him out of the direct line of the alleyway, and then, almost an afterthought, grabs Jisung, too, yanking the soldier nearly off of his feet just as two crossbow bolts wing through the air right behind their backs.

“Go,” Jisung says, jaw set, and then they’re bolting down the street, dodging carts and mules and startled citizens, angry yells at their backs. Jongho spares a glance over his shoulder as they run and sees golden cloaks pouring out of the alleyway.

“Your friend set us up,” Jongho snaps, weaving his way through a group of young women who shout at him as he passes by; he’s betting on royal guards being reluctant to open fire into a group of innocent cityfolk, but to be fair, he’s seen them do worse things.

“No.” Jisung sounds grim; Jongho glances at him, sees Jisung looking briefly over his shoulder, his brow dark. Jongho hazards another look back and catches a distant glimpse of a familiar dark-cloaked figure being dragged from the pub by three golden-cloaked guards, struggling in their grasp. 

“I think the king knows he’s being undermined,” Yeosang says breathlessly from beside Jongho’s elbow, and then he tugs at Jongho’s sleeve, jerking him to the left. “This way,” he says, and they cut a close corner, Jongho almost tripping over a cart of spooled fabric, an elderly woman scolding him as they sprint down the alleyway, boots kicking up muck.

Another crossbow bolt whips past Jongho’s right ear, making him duck, and he hears Jisung curse from behind him as something heavy falls. Jongho glances back, prepared to stop, but he sees one of Jisung’s fellow soldiers on the ground behind them, a crossbow bolt piercing his neck, and Jisung already running on, face grim and pale, knowing that the man is lost.

“Just go,” Jisung snaps, and Jongho turns back around, keeping pace with Yeosang as Jisung and his remaining two soldiers follow.

They reach the gates in record time, after a bit more weaving through narrow alleyways and one quick detour through an open-doored house, and then Jisung and the soldiers manage to snag their horses from the stables, dropping a bag of coins in their wake. No sooner is Jongho mounted on his horse than he kicks it into a gallop and holds on for dear life, all five of them racing away from the capital at full speed, hoping that their head start is enough to lose any trailing golden-cloaked guards.

*

“You’re distracted.”

Hongjoong rolls his head to the side. Seonghwa is propped up beside him in bed, his eyes warm, head resting on one hand. Seonghwa’s hair, so recently dyed an ethereal light gray, still clings in sweaty tendrils to his forehead, that and the small bruise Hongjoong kissed into the side of his neck the only evidence of what they finished just a few minutes prior.

“Sorry,” Hongjoong says. He lifts a hand to cradle Seonghwa’s cheek, brushing his thumb gently over the corner of Seonghwa’s lips. “I’m here, I just…”

“I know.” Seonghwa presses a kiss to the pad of Hongjoong’s thumb, making Hongjoong’s heart clench. Seonghwa looks beautiful in the dim light of their cabin on the _Mist_ , bare but for a blanket slung low over his hips, his soft hair limned golden by the lamplight. This is the Park Seonghwa no one else ever sees, the Seonghwa who belongs to Hongjoong alone, his guard lowered and magic at rest, a husband before he is a sorcerer.

Hongjoong reaches for Seonghwa’s left hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing the dark metal band around Seonghwa’s ring finger.

“You _did_ help, though,” Hongjoong murmurs, smiling against Seonghwa’s skin. “I feel much better than I did earlier tonight.”

Seonghwa smirks. “Yes, orgasms have that effect on people, I’ve found.”

Hongjoong slides his hand to the nape of Seonghwa’s neck, threading his fingers into sweat-damp hair, and gently reels him in for a kiss, soft and open-mouthed. Seonghwa melts into the kiss, his left hand cupping Hongjoong’s cheek, soft skin and the cool metal of his wedding band.

“Will it help you to talk about it?” Seonghwa whispers against Hongjoong’s lips. “Or would you rather I distract you again?”

Hongjoong shivers slightly at the idea of being distracted again, but he knows it would only be a temporary relief, at best. 

“If I don’t talk, I might never sleep,” he says with a sigh, lying back against his pillow, and Seonghwa settles at his side, one arm curled over Hongjoong’s torso, his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“Then talk,” Seonghwa says.

“The crown knows we’re moving to rebel,” Hongjoong starts, keeping his voice low. He finds it helpful to lay out as much knowledge as possible when he’s trying to plan what to do next, and especially when he’s preparing to bounce ideas off of someone else, since even for all of his power, Seonghwa cannot actually see inside Hongjoong’s mind. “They must suspect by this point that we have allied ourselves with the House of Ares, so they know that the warriors in that House are no longer available to them, seeing as not a soul from the House of Ares would ever betray their commander.” He says this a bit bitterly, unable to tamp down on all of his envy. He loves his House, and they have been loyal to him ever since he clawed his way to power, but the House of Hades—rife with pirates and thieves as they are—is not exactly known for its loyalty, not like the noble House of Ares. “That cuts down the crown’s ground forces by a large margin. They’ll need to be careful about launching a direct attack on us now. And we can no longer use secrecy to our advantage while hoping that the House of Helios will be focusing only on Chan, so—”

“Chan.” Seonghwa’s voice is quiet, thoughtful.

Hongjoong pauses, frowning slightly. “Hm?”

“You called him ‘Chan,’” Seonghwa says. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you call him only by his given name.”

Hongjoong stares up at the familiar dark wood of his ceiling.

“I didn’t even notice,” he whispers.

“It’s okay to see him as a person, Hongjoong-ah.” Seonghwa traces soothing, feather-light patterns over Hongjoong’s collarbones. “It doesn’t make you weak.”

“No,” Hongjoong says, “but it’ll make what comes next even harder.”

Seonghwa’s hand stills for a moment, just long enough for Hongjoong to notice, before he continues, telling Hongjoong, “Keep going.”

Hongjoong lets out a slow breath. “The spy we captured insisted that the orders he was told were given by the king, which means that someone else ordered me dead. We won’t know until Yeosang and Jongho return just how many factions are at war within the House of Helios, so we cannot make a solid plan until their return, which means we’re left guessing for at least another day.” Hongjoong lifts a hand, rubs tiredly at his eyes. “The best we can do is start making plans for war. It’s looking more and more like that’s what this will come to.”

“That seems… logical. We can summon the fleet tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Hongjoong sighs again. “Okay. That’s the plan, then. At least for now.”

They both fall quiet for a few moments, Seonghwa’s fingers still tickling Hongjoong’s skin, Hongjoong’s mind still racing, trying to think of every potential outcome, every detail he might have forgotten, every strength he has available to him. 

“Tomorrow…” Seonghwa trails off, his hand finally going still on Hongjoong’s chest.

“Hm?” Hongjoong says, half-distracted. 

“I’m going to help Felix from the House of Ares practice healing.”

That gets Hongjoong’s full attention. He cranes his head to see if he can catch Seonghwa’s eye, but all he sees is messy gray hair, tousled and soft as it tickles Hongjoong’s chin. 

“You’re—what? Why?” he says.

“I’m going to train him a bit,” Seonghwa says, his voice calm, careful. “He has potential, I can sense it in him, but he’s just a fledgling now. I’m going to give him some guidance, that’s all.”

“Is that wise?” Hongjoong asks.

“I’m not training him to become a battle mage, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa grumbles. “It’s just a bit of healing. It’ll be fine.”

Hongjoong scowls up at the ceiling, anxiety curling in his stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of Seonghwa spending any more time than necessary with the House of Ares, regardless of their alliance. Sorcerers are rare and valuable, and although Hongjoong suspects that Bang Chan would rather eat glass than stoop so low as to kidnap Hongjoong’s husband right from under his nose, Hongjoong isn’t convinced that the rest of the House of Ares feels the same.

But Hongjoong also knows how stubborn Seonghwa can be when he has his mind set on something, so he heaves a sigh and mutters, “Take Wooyoung and San with you when you go.”

“Both of them?” Seonghwa says, sounding incredulous.

“Both of them,” Hongjoong insists, squeezing Seonghwa tightly against his side. He adds in a softer voice, because he is weak and nervous and doesn’t know what he would do without the man lying beside him, “Please.”

Seonghwa shifts, leaning up to kiss Hongjoong’s cheek.

“Okay,” he says, smiling against Hongjoong’s skin, and Hongjoong turns his head to capture Seonghwa’s lips in a kiss, soft and warm. One kiss becomes two, becomes three, and then Hongjoong has his hands buried in soft gray hair and the world falls away for a few blissful, skin-tingling moments, before Seonghwa eventually pulls back, his lips swollen, dark eyes thoughtful. 

“Earlier,” he says, “when you said… what comes next. Do you truly think they’ll turn on us as soon as the House of Helios is defeated?” 

Hongjoong’s stomach twists. He’s been asking himself the same question ever since the battle that morning, ever since he found himself fighting back-to-back with their commander, saw a scarlet-clad soldier save San’s life, watched another ( _Felix_ , Hongjoong remembers, _that was Felix_ ) yank Mingi out of harm’s way like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong says quietly. “But I think it’s safest for us to expect it. At least then we won’t be caught by surprise.”

Seonghwa is quiet for a moment. He settles back down against Hongjoong’s side, wrapping an arm around Hongjoong’s chest.

“If they don’t…” Seonghwa says eventually. “If the crown falls, and the House of Ares don’t turn on us immediately… will you strike the first blow?” 

Hongjoong watches the ceiling, flickering shadows from the lantern painting winglike patterns over the dark, glossy wood. Hongjoong pictures a battlefield, a fallen golden flag, and beside him, a broad-shouldered figure in red, blade unsheathed, scarred gaze turning to Hongjoong. Hongjoong imagines a sword in his own hand, the heft of it, how easy it would be to swing.

He whispers, “I don’t know.”

*

“They’re getting along well.”

Hyunjin looks up from the sword he’s sharpening and finds San—lounging casually in the grass beside him, irritatingly unintimidated by the scrape of Hyunjin’s whetstone against his blade—watching Changbin and Wooyoung on the other side of the little clearing they all settled into for Felix’s healing lesson. Hyunjin turns to look and is unsurprised to find Changbin with his head thrown back, cackling at Wooyoung’s apparent dismay, a small set of dice tossed onto the scrubby grass between them. 

“Changbin will make friends with anyone willing to place a bet against him,” Hyunjin says, turning his attention back to his blade.

“And you?” San says. “Who do you make friends with?”

Hyunjin glances at San, and the pirate smiles at him, eyes glinting prettily.

“My brothers in arms,” Hyunjin says, and almost cringes at how stupidly dull that sounds. 

“That includes me, right? Since we’re allies?” San says. “We even did the whole mutual life-saving thing.”

Hyunjin grits his teeth and swipes his whetstone down his blade, the sound rasping so loudly through the clearing that he earns a disapproving look from Felix, who is sitting in the middle of the clearing, listening raptly to Seonghwa.

“Is that a no?” San says, sounding rather pleased with himself for getting Hyunjin scolded. 

Hyunjin sighs and lets his head drop back, glancing briefly up at the bright mid-morning sky. He doesn’t want to look at San, because he knows the pirate is watching him gleefully, black hair falling softly into his eyes, dark jacket slung low on his arms, revealing broad shoulders and a pretty freckled neck.

“Do you want to be my friend?” Hyunjin asks, as though it’s a challenge.

“Sure.”

The answer comes so easily that Hyunjin is startled into looking at San, but San is fondly watching Seonghwa and Felix, who seem to be laughing over something in the middle of their lesson.

“Do you really think it’s that easy?” Hyunjin says. “You just say ‘sure,’ and suddenly we’re friends?”

San shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

Hyunjin stares at him. “We agreed that this alliance was temporary,” he says. “Only until the House of Helios is brought down. What happens then?”

“If I worry too much about the future, I’ll never have any fun in the present.”

Hyunjin closes his mouth, unable to respond to that. He hears a high, squeaking laugh from across the clearing; Wooyoung has apparently won back some of his money. Hyunjin looks over at Felix again and doesn’t miss the admiration shining in Felix’s eyes as he watches Seonghwa speak, hanging on the sorcerer’s every word. The entire clearing is peaceful, could maybe even be called cheerful. It’s a strange moment of harmony; a shared calm before the storm. Hyunjin knows that the House of Hades has called for their fleet, knows that Chan has been recalling their own troops, forming an army at their encampment, getting ready to either strike or defend, depending on what news Jisung brings back. But here… here there is only calm.

Hyunjin gets to his feet and tosses one of his swords San’s way; it thumps into the grass near San’s right hand, and San jumps slightly, staring down at it in befuddlement. 

“What’s this?” he says, raising an eyebrow up at Hyunjin.

“Practice.” Hyunjin unsheathes his other sword, already sharpened, and gives it a spin, enjoying the way the blade gleams in the sunlight. “Might as well do something useful, as long as we’re just sitting here.”

San stares up at him for a heavy moment, silent, his expression guarded, and then he smirks and picks up the sword, rising gracefully to his feet.

“I’m not really a swordsman, you know,” he says, but his automatic defensive stance and the easy way he holds the blade say otherwise. 

“Then this will be a good introductory lesson for you,” Hyunjin says, letting his lips curl into a teasing smile. “We’ll go easy. These aren’t practice swords, and we don’t need anyone getting hurt.”

“But we have a brand new healer right over there, just dying to practice,” San says, grinning. 

Hyunjin laughs; it feels surprisingly nice. He raises his sword. “Just defend,” he says, and then he lunges.

San is quick. Hyunjin expected as much, from watching San wield a glaive in the battle the morning before, all graceful footwork and elegant lines, but it’s something new altogether to be on the receiving end of that speed. San bats aside Hyunjin’s sword with a scrape of steel, and then sweeps his own blade up back-handed, a swipe that could have gutted Hyunjin if he hadn’t stepped back in time and San hadn’t slightly bent his elbow, preventing the attack from being a fatal one, even if it had landed. Hyunjin recovers easily, taking advantage of San’s backswing to step forward and thrust, but San spins to the side before Hyunjin’s blade can hit home, San’s own sword swinging back to the front, taking up a defensive position once more.

San’s eyes are narrowed, and he seems to be watching Hyunjin a bit more closely, clearly re-evaluating his sparring tactics now that they’ve crossed blades. 

“Are you two trying to kill each other?” calls a light voice from across the clearing—Wooyoung.

“Not yet,” San calls back.

“Chan’s gonna be mad if you murder one of the pirates,” yells Changbin.

“I’m not going to murder him,” Hyunjin yells back.

“Just be careful, please.” That’s the sorcerer, sounding resigned. 

San’s lips curl, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “Yes, hyung-nim.”

“Ready?” Hyunjin asks, pitching his voice lower, only for San.

San gives a tight nod, and Hyunjin grins and launches an attack.

They’re well matched. Their blades make a pleasing, ringing crack each time they meet, Hyunjin mostly on the attack, San smoothly defending, dancing out of range just enough to be frustrating before he slips back in to launch his own attack, his blade at times blindingly fast. Hyunjin feels sweat starting to bead on his forehead, his throat starting to grow dry from breathing too hard. It’s starting to feel like a workout—like a real spar, like he’s practicing with Minho, or even Chan—and then he feels a sharp pain on his right hand, making him hiss.

San pulls back immediately, his eyes going wide.

“Oh,” he says, letting his sword arm fall, “sorry, are you—?”

Hyunjin makes a potentially reckless decision very quickly. He surges forward into San’s space, taking the pirate by surprise, and thrusts a leg behind San’s knee, pressing forward until San topples backwards, landing on his butt in the grass. Hyunjin holds San there at swordpoint, the tip of his blade just barely grazing the underside of San’s chin.

The entire clearing seems to freeze for a moment. Hyunjin can hear his own heart pounding in his ears, his chest heaving as he holds the blade steady, staring San right in his wide, pretty eyes. San is also breathing hard, his lips parted, sweat making his dark hair cling to his brow, his temples, the nape of his neck. He’s leaning back on his hands, his legs splayed in front of him, and a single word flits into Hyunjin’s mind, unbidden: _Beautiful._

Hyunjin swallows audibly and gently presses the flat of his blade against San’s jaw, tipping San’s head up. 

“You got distracted,” he says, smirking partly to ease the tension, partly because there is _power_ in this position, and he’s a bit embarrassed to realize how much he’s enjoying it.

San relaxes a bit when he sees Hyunjin smirk, his own lips curling into a small smile as he lets his head fall back a bit more, eyes going heavy-lidded in a way that makes Hyunjin’s mouth go dry. 

“Sorry for showing concern,” he says, casually. His eyes flicker to Hyunjin’s hand, where Hyunjin can feel the warm trickle of blood. “How’s your hand?” 

Hyunjin automatically glances at it, and only realizes once his back has hit the ground what a rookie mistake that was.

San is above him in an instant, pinning him down, and Hyunjin feels the cool kiss of steel against his throat; not a sword, but a smaller blade, presumably a knife San had hidden on his person this entire time. 

“You got distracted,” San parrots, leaning in to whisper into Hyunjin’s ear, so close that Hyunjin can feel the warmth of his breath, feel soft dark hair tickling his cheek. Cheeks flaming, Hyunjin presses up against San’s arms, and the knife is removed from his throat easily enough, San laughing as he allows himself to be shoved back.

“Are you two quite done?” Wooyoung’s voice brings Hyunjin back to the clearing, and Hyunjin briefly covers his face, pretending to just be frustrated. 

“We’re just playing, Young-ah!” San calls, and Hyunjin feels a hand clap his shoulder twice, bracingly, before he feels San get to his feet, the solid weight of him suddenly gone from Hyunjin’s waist.

Hyunjin lets out a sigh and sits up. His hair has started to fall into his face, and he takes a moment to fix it, smoothing it back from his forehead and tying it neatly into a half-tail again. It’s only after he’s finished fastening the tie that he realizes San is watching him, his dark eyes intent. Hyunjin meets his gaze, refusing to be embarrassed again, and tries to ignore the way his heart skips when San finally looks away with a dimpled smile. 

“Oh my g—” Changbin starts to drawl, but he’s interrupted by the rumbling approach of hooves and a horse’s panicked whinny. 

At once, everyone in the clearing is on their feet, weapons at the ready. San is at Seonghwa’s side before Hyunjin even registers that he moved, grasping Seonghwa firmly by the arm and dragging him back so that he’s standing partially behind San. Hyunjin steps forward to join them, coming up beside Felix, who glances at him nervously, his brow furrowed.

“Hyunjin—” he says, but then a horse bursts into the clearing right beside them, sides lathered with sweat, Jisung clinging to the reins. He looks pale and exhausted, but Hyunjin doesn’t even have time to speak before three more horses appear, two of them bearing the pirates who accompanied Jisung to the capital—Yeosang and Jongho, also looking shattered—and the last horse with two of Jisung’s men on its back, one of whom is slumped against the other, jacket stained with blood.

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung says, stepping forward to meet them, Changbin tight-lipped at his side.

“The king knows,” Yeosang says, breathless. “He knows he’s being betrayed.”

“Fetch your captain,” Jisung says to Seonghwa, his voice tight. “I think we’re going to war.”

*

The hours after the spies’ return pass in a blur.

Chan meets them at the edge of the House of Ares encampment, his chest tight as he watches Hyunjin help Jisung down from his horse, as Jongho and Yeosang dismount, fussed over by Wooyoung and San. Seonghwa stands slightly apart from them, sending a raven winging into the air for the _Mist_ before he turns to the injured soldier who returned with Jisung ( _Hyunseung_ , Chan’s brain supplies), his hands already glowing with power, ready to heal.

“There were eight of them,” Jisung says as he steps gingerly over to Chan, supported on one side by Changbin, with Hyunjin hovering just behind them. “Royal guards bearing the insignia of the House of Helios. They chased us from the capital and trailed us into the forest, we couldn’t—we had to lose them.”

“Where are they now?” Chan asks.

“Dead.” That’s Jongho, his dark eyes fierce despite his clear exhaustion. “We ran them ragged into the night and then caught them in an ambush. They won’t be a problem anymore, but the crown will notice when they don’t return.”

“There are two factions in the House of Helios,” Yeosang says, leaning against Wooyoung’s shoulder. “The king, and a group led by his top advisor, Sangyeon. Sangyeon was the one who ordered you to kill Hongjoong. The plan was for his House to blame the act on the king and use him as a sacrifice in an attempt to retain their power.”

Chan’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his blood boiling.

“So he was using me as a pawn,” Chan says, keeping his voice dangerously calm. “Lovely.”

“They didn’t think that the king knew about the plot,” Jisung says, “but my contact was arrested just as we left, and clearly we were pursued by royal guards, so—”

“In all likelihood, Juyeon knows he’s been betrayed,” Chan says.

Jisung gives a stiff nod. “So it would seem.” 

Chan inhales slowly, his mind racing. He glances in the direction Seonghwa’s raven just flew off into, wishing—perhaps a bit guiltily—that Hongjoong were already here, so that every eye wouldn’t turn expectantly to him alone. It’s a strange new notion, feeling like he has another leader to depend on, even if he’s still not entirely sure whether he can fully trust the Pirate King.

“Get some rest,” Chan says. “All of you. And thank you for bringing this back to us. We’ll regroup when Hongjoong arrives and figure out our plan from there, but for now, I think we should prepare for a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” chorus Chan’s men, and the pirates all nod, looking grim. 

Captain Hongjoong arrives about an hour later with his first mate in tow. Hongjoong ducks into Chan’s meeting tent just as Chan is signing off on some final orders for cavalry preparation, fully suspecting that the troops will be needed before the week is out. 

“Are we interrupting?” Hongjoong says, cocking an eyebrow at the young squire waiting for Chan’s signature, who pales when she sees the pirates enter the tent, black-clad and intimidating.

“No.” Chan feels strangely relieved to see Hongjoong in his tent looking so poised and unflappable, a reaction that lies in stark contrast to Chan’s rather terrified squire. “I’ve been expecting you. Take that to Minho,” he tells the squire, who bows and then scurries as quickly as she can past the pirates and out of the tent.

“Seonghwa tells me that King Juyeon is aware of the opposing faction in his House,” Hongjoong says. 

Chan leans back against the table, letting out a sigh. “Seems like it.”

“And it’s only the two factions at odds?” Yunho says, his eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest. “No others?”

“According to Jisung’s source, yes,” Chan says.

Hongjoong grunts, looking skeptical, but he doesn’t argue, instead stepping further inside the tent to pace.

“We have no way of knowing which faction might come out victorious from any internal feud,” Hongjoong says, half to himself. “And it seems clear that the House’s actions would differ based on who ends up in power, whether it’s Juyeon or Sangyeon.”

“I have a proposition,” Chan says, watching Hongjoong pace like a lion stalking his cage.

“I’m listening,” Hongjoong says, fixing sharp eyes on Chan.

“I don’t think we even need to worry about which faction comes out on top.” Chan grips the table behind him, his knuckles going white. “Their House is divided. That means that their attention is focused at least partially inward. They’re weak, distracted. Vulnerable.” Chan meets Hongjoong’s gaze, his jaw set. “We should strike now.”

Hongjoong is quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowed, pacing paused.

“You want to launch an attack on the capital?” he says.

“We have the men, the resources,” Chan says, his voice becoming a bit more insistent. “The royal fleet is gone, which means your House can attack from the bay. I know Sangyeon, or at least I used to. He’s not cruel. He won’t let the city undergo a siege for long. We should be able to pressure them to surrender.”

Hongjoong is watching Chan carefully, his expression veiled.

“When would you march?” he asks.

“How soon can your fleet be ready?” 

“The day after next.”

Chan can’t quite hide his surprise, and Hongjoong flashes him a crooked smile.

“I had a feeling this battle was coming,” he says. “The fleet is already on its way. Will your troops be ready?”

Chan nods, starting to smile as anticipation sparks to life in his chest. “They’ll be ready.”

“Good,” Hongjoong says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my sorcerer so he can send word to our ships. I trust he’s still holed up here somewhere?”

“In the healing tent, with Felix and your other men,” Chan says. “Near the western edge of camp.”

Hongjoong nods, and then he and Yunho turn to leave. Chan hesitates for a moment, still not entirely sure about what he’s planning to do, but then he calls after them.

“Captain!” he says.

Hongjoong pauses in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“It’s tradition in the House of Ares to hold a feast the night before a battle,” Chan says. “There will be plenty of room for you and your men, should you choose to join us, and no hard feelings, should you not.”

Hongjoong looks slightly startled by the invitation, and then his eyes curve in a small smile.

“We will consider it,” he says, and slips out of the tent, his first mate at his heels.

*

Sangyeon storms into the throne room, incandescent with rage.

“You threw Sunwoo into the dungeon?” he snaps, his voice echoing over marble and gold.

Juyeon lounges on the throne, his head propped on one hand. Jacob stands beside him on the dais, eyes wide as he looks between Sangyeon and Juyeon, clearly tempted to flee.

“Careful,” Juyeon says calmly. “From the sound of things, I should send you there to join him.”

“Juyeon,” Jacob says, a warning, but Juyeon ignores him, leaning forward in the throne. He’s wearing the crown today, an elegant circlet of gold and sapphire, and Sangyeon knows that it’s calculated, knows that Juyeon is wearing it to flaunt his power, having expected Sangyeon to burst livid into the throne room.

“You went behind my back.” Juyeon’s voice drips venom, every ounce the golden snake of their House. “You ordered the leader of the House of Hades killed. You incited rebellion—”

“I didn’t incite anything,” Sangyeon says, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms. “Rebellion was coming, and we have you to thank for that, I just—”

“And you were going to _dethrone_ me,” Juyeon continues, pitching his voice louder, “to save yourself.”

“To save _you_.” Sangyeon flings a hand towards the tall stained-glass windows along the eastern side of the throne room. “ _They_ want you deposed. _They_ want you dead. _I_ want you off the throne, yes, but to save your life. If the House of Helios deals with you on our own, then the other Houses cannot demand your head, and they might not press for a war. I did this for _you_.”

“That’s bullshit,” Juyeon snaps. “You want the throne for yourself, you always have. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all of your little schemes, all of the orders you’ve given behind my back—”

“Because you won’t rule anymore!” Sangyeon knows that he’s shouting, can feel his face heating, can see Jacob staring at him with wide, startled eyes, but his blood is boiling with more than a year of repressed frustration, and like hell can he stop now. “You have become paranoid, and waspish, and distant, and there is nothing I want _less_ than that gods-damned throne you’re sitting on, but _someone_ had to run the fucking kingdom in your place, and I love you, Juyeon, so I stepped up.” 

“Hyung—” Jacob says, quietly, but Sangyeon holds out a hand to him.

“No,” he snaps. “No, he needs to hear this.” He focuses on Juyeon again, his pulse loud in his ears. “Do you think it’s been easy for me to do this? To work behind your back, like some kind of criminal? Like I’m betraying you? Betraying our House? The past year has broken my heart, Juyeon-ah. I never wanted this, I never wanted to—” Sangyeon breaks off, breathing heavily, the sudden silence ringing loudly in the great expanse of the throne room. “It should never have gotten this far,” Sangyeon says, quieter, feeling suddenly exhausted. “And I’m sorry it did, truly I am, but… I felt like this was our chance. This was the only way to save our House. To save you. Please let us save you.”

Juyeon looks stunned. He stares at Sangyeon, eyes wide. 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks finally. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I tried,” Sangyeon says, desperately, his voice breaking slightly. “I tried, and you never… you were never _here_. Not really. And I’ve been asking myself for months now, just… when did you stop trusting me, Juyeon-ah?”

Juyeon inhales shakily, then looks up at Jacob, who folds his bottom lip between his teeth and looks away, down at the gold-veined marble of the dais. Juyeon closes his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Juyeon whispers, brokenly.

Sangyeon watches him for a moment, their shining king curling into himself on his throne, their lost king whom Sangyeon has known ever since they were barely able to walk, whom he loves like his own little brother. Sangyeon’s heart aches, and he takes those final steps towards the throne, climbing the dais until he is able to crouch beside Juyeon and take him into his arms, squeezing tightly. Juyeon leans into him.

“What do we do now?” Juyeon asks.

“We keep you safe,” Sangyeon says, rubbing a soothing hand over Juyeon’s back. “However we can. Just like we always have.”

Sangyeon hears the gentle scuff of a sole against marble and looks up to see Jacob standing over them, one hand in Juyeon’s hair.

“You two should talk,” Jacob says quietly. “And I mean _actually_ talk. I’ll be back in an hour so we can plan.”

Sangyeon nods, forcing a weak, grateful smile. “Thank you, Jacob.”

Jacob barely makes it halfway across the throne room before running footsteps approach from outside and the grand doors slam open again, this time admitting a flushed and panting Haknyeon, his hair mussed, a crumpled piece of parchment in one hand.

Foreboding curls like acid in Sangyeon’s gut. He gets slowly to his feet, staying close to Juyeon, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What is it?” he calls.

“News from the south,” Haknyeon says breathlessly. “Commander Bang Chan is mustering his troops. The House of Ares marches tomorrow. And—” He breaks off, his brow furrowed in consternation. “The House of Hades sails with them.”

Sangyeon closes his eyes briefly. It’s what he expected, but his stomach still drops. Despite all of his planning, there’s still so much that could go wrong, so much that could be lost, and the idea of those two Houses allied is, frankly, rather terrifying.

“Send word to the generals of the House of Helios,” Sangyeon says. “Tell them to prepare the city for—” 

“No,” Juyeon says, his voice loud in the great hall. “No, wait, that’s not—we can’t just try to hold them off, we’ll be outnumbered, and the city will be overrun in hours.” He glances up at Sangyeon, his eyes gleaming; he almost looks like his old self. “I have a different idea. It’s risky, but…” Juyeon smiles weakly. “Do you trust me?” 

Sangyeon stares at him for a moment, his heart and mind racing. He glances at Hakyneon, at Jacob, but they’re both watching him, eyes wide. Sangyeon lets out a shaky breath and turns back to his king.

“Yes,” he says, and Juyeon’s smile grows bright.

*

Hyunjin doesn’t usually drink this much the night before a battle.

He wasn’t planning to drink much this night, either, but then he looks up from the fire and sees Chan standing to greet Kim Hongjoong and his usual crew of pirates, all of them dressed for a feast, with long black coats and dark shadowed eyes and gleaming onyx jewelry. The sorcerer in particular draws the eyes of many of the soldiers seated around Hyunjin; he’s clad in a sweeping black feathered robe, his hair neatly coiffed to hang elegantly over one eye, gemstones gracing his handsome face. Hyunjin secretly pities any soldier from the House of Ares drunk enough to try their luck with the Dragon, but then Hyunjin catches sight of San, and he turns that pity onto himself, instead.

San looks… unfair. His soft dark hair falls prettily over his eyes, one of which is adorned with a tear-drop shaped emerald that glimmers in the firelight. He is wearing a thick black coat like the rest of his crew, but his is shorter than theirs, revealing a cropped black top and a slim bare midriff that makes Hyunjin’s mouth go a bit dry. Hyunjin’s eyes fall only briefly to the leather pants clinging to San’s hips before Hyunjin whips his head back around and takes a much too large gulp from his drink, nearly choking himself.

“Good gods, Hyunjinnie, take it easy,” Changbin grumbles, pounding Hyunjin none too gently on the back.

Hyunjin waves him off, his eyes watering, and gives into the temptation to glance back at the pirates, hating himself all the while.

San is looking his way, and their eyes meet. Hyunjin’s heart skitters, and San smirks, his own gaze sweeping Hyunjin appreciatively from head to toe, before he turns back to listen politely to whatever Chan is saying to the pirates, welcoming them to the feast.

Hyunjin is self-aware enough to know that he’s attractive, knows that he purposefully chose to wear this cape, and this belly-baring top, and the gold collar around his neck, just as he purposefully chose to pull his hair back into the same half-tail that had San eyeing him the day before, but he still feels flushed by the time San looks away, and he desperately drains his drink, flustered.

“So what happened to not trusting them?” Changbin mutters, because he sees far too much and knows Hyunjin far too well.

“When did I ever say I trust them?” Hyunjin retorts with a scowl.

“If you’re gonna fuck him, you have to trust him at least a little bit,” Changbin says.

Hyunjin stares at him, jaw hanging open, as Changbin casually sips his own drink.

“I’m not going to _fuck_ him,” Hyunjin says, to which Changbin just slants him a disbelieving look.

So Hyunjin drinks. And for a while, it works; he distracts himself by bickering with Changbin, beating Minho at a drinking game, stealing sweets from Jeongin’s plate just because he knows it’ll make Jeongin squawk, and expertly ducking out of sight any time he sees a pirate. Eventually, Hyunjin ends up in the shadows near the main tent, taking a moment to breathe and clear his head, silently cursing himself for drinking so much so quickly. He’s just about to head back out to the feast when a hand catches him gently by the elbow, reeling him back into the shadows.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” San says, and though his voice is light and joking, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah,” Hyunjin says eloquently, his heart already racing.

“Did I do something to offend you?”

“No, I just—I’ve been… busy.” Hyunjin winces slightly at the flimsy excuse.

“I see,” San says, clearly unconvinced. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to see how your hand was healing, and it looks to be fine, so…” San inclines his head politely and turns away, which makes Hyunjin’s stomach clench. Before he can properly think about what he’s doing, he reaches out and snags San’s wrist.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says quietly. “Please don’t, I’m not—I’m not busy anymore.” 

San just looks at him, face impassive, the emerald on his cheek glinting. 

“Look,” Hyunjin hisses, “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is… this is kinda new to me, okay?” He glances over his shoulder, making sure that no one is eavesdropping, and then tugs San closer, silently relieved when San doesn’t fight him, allowing himself to be pulled in.

“What, being attracted to men?” San says. 

“Being attracted to someone not of my House.” It’s the first time Hyunjin has admitted it out loud—that he’s attracted to San, that he’s been daydreaming about San like a school boy with a crush ever since he first laid eyes on him in the early morning fog at the acropolis—but instead of feeling nervous about it, Hyunjin feels excitement flutter to life in his belly. “I don’t really know how this should work.”

“Why does it need to work any differently just because we’re not from the same House?” San seems more relaxed now, after hearing Hyunjin’s confession, his smile softer, more genuine.

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin says. San’s wrist shifts in Hyunjin’s grip, and then they’re holding hands, San interlocking their fingers and starting to pull Hyunjin further back into the shadows. “It’s just… this alliance is temporary. It’s always been temporary.” Hyunjin feels it when San’s back bumps into one of the large supporting tent poles, and it seems only natural for Hyunjin to keep approaching until they are chest to chest, San looking up at Hyunjin with hooded eyes, Hyunjin finally allowing himself to grasp San by the waist, soft skin over hard muscle. “What if tomorrow,” Hyunjin continues, slightly breathlessly, because San is arching against him, and Hyunjin is trying to speak _coherently_ , damnit, and that is not _helping_ , “after the House of Helios falls—what if we need to fight each other?”

A warm hand slides over Hyunjin’s jaw, fingers lacing into his long hair.

“As I’ve said before,” San whispers, his breath warm against Hyunjin’s lips, but not yet touching, “if you worry too much about the future, then you’ll never have any fun in the present.”

Hyunjin lets out a shaky breath, his eyes closing, fully expecting to be kissed, but then San swipes a thumb over Hyunjin’s cheek and asks, “Is this all right?” And Hyunjin’s heart quakes.

“Yes,” Hyunjin breathes, his chest growing warm, and then San kisses him, firmly, coaxing Hyunjin’s mouth open, and it’s even better than Hyunjin thought it would be. Hyunjin inhales, his hands tightening around San’s slim waist, pulling him closer, and San curls his fingers into Hyunjin’s hair, tugging just enough to sting. Hyunjin can’t remember the last time he kissed someone like this, hot and almost desperate and yet somehow soft enough to make Hyunjin’s heart flutter. He deepens the kiss, pressing close, and San makes a low, needy sound that goes straight to Hyunjin’s groin.

“How drunk are you?” San asks, pulling away just enough to speak. 

“Not so drunk that I didn’t know this was coming,” Hyunjin says, kissing San again, fiercely. He feels San’s lips curl into a grin against his own, and then he realizes what he just said. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters, and kisses San’s smile, swallowing his laugh.

Hyunjin loses track of how long they kiss. The distant sounds of the feast fade into the background, and he feels lighter than he has in days, San a source of beautiful warmth in his arms. Hyunjin kisses the corner of San’s mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, the freckles on his neck; San tilts his head back, his eyes fluttering closed, kiss-bruised lips parted, and Hyunjin decides, perhaps a bit drunkenly, that he could write sonnets to the way San bares his throat for him.

San traces a hand down Hyunjin’s chest, fingers skimming over the bare skin of his sternum, the dark red fabric of Hyunjin’s top, the sensitive skin of Hyunjin’s belly, until he finally presses meaningfully against the growing hardness between Hyunjin’s legs. Hyunjin’s heart stutters, his breath catching.

“Wait,” he says. “If we’re going to do this, then we should—we should do it properly.”

San leans in to nip at Hyunjin’s earlobe. “All right,” he says, and Hyunjin can hear his smile. “Where’s your tent?” 

Hyunjin exhales shakily as he takes San’s hand, entwining their fingers again, and starts leading San through the moonlit camp, away from the feast. 

“You know, this would be the perfect time for you to kill me, were you so inclined,” San quips once they’re a decent distance away, and Hyunjin’s stomach clenches. He stops in his tracks, San nearly barreling into him, and turns to face San, who looks a bit startled. Hyunjin just stares at San for a moment, and then leans in to kiss him again, softer this time, cupping his cheeks. San makes a quiet, surprised sound, his hands coming up to curl around Hyunjin’s wrists.

“What was that for?” San asks once Hyunjin pulls away.

“A promise,” Hyunjin says quietly, his heart racing. “That you won’t die tomorrow, by my hand or anyone else’s. All right?”

San stares at him for a moment, dark eyes wide, and then his lips curl into a crooked smile.

“You barely know me, Hyunjin-ah,” he says, but his voice is hushed, small.

“I’ll know you better soon.” Hyunjin links their hands again, squeezing. “And I know you enough to not want you dead.” He hesitates, and then asks, quietly, “Do you want me dead?”

“No,” San says, immediately, and Hyunjin kisses him again, quick and gentle. 

“Come on, then,” he says, tugging San along the darkened path towards his sleeping tent. “I want you at least twice before anyone starts looking for us.”

San laughs, quiet and surprised, and Hyunjin lets himself smile again, shoving away any more thoughts of the battle tomorrow, and what might lie beyond.

*

“You’re joking.”

Hongjoong says it so flatly that Chan can’t help but laugh.

“I’m not, I swear,” he says, reaching over to refill both Hongjoong’s glass and his own. “My little sister was _convinced_ that your sorcerer would have scales, or at the very least wings.”

“Because of a nickname?” 

“You have to understand, we don’t have sorcerers in the House of Ares like you do in your House.” Chan shrugs. “They’re legends to us. So if one of those feared legends is called the Dragon, you can’t really fault a five year-old for assuming that he’d be, well… dragon-like.”

Hongjoong laughs, one of the first real laughs Chan has seen from him, and Chan is a bit surprised by how much a smile lights up the pirate’s face.

“I’ll need to tell him that,” Hongjoong says, reaching for his cup. “He’ll get a kick out of it.”

They fall into comfortable silence again, and Chan takes a moment to look around, unable to keep from smiling as he watches his men converse at the large wooden tables set up around the large bonfire in the middle of the camp. He sees Changbin seated between Jongho and Wooyoung, explaining some game or another, Seungmin hovering curiously just over their shoulders. Minho seems to be deep in conversation with Mingi, a bit away from other groups, and Felix is, as expected, seated beside Seonghwa, talking enthusiastically to the older sorcerer. Chan hasn’t seen either Hyunjin or San in a while, but he chooses not to worry about that; he’s almost positive they’re not killing each other, at least.

“Can I ask you something?” Chan says finally, his voice quiet, turning back to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong glances at him side-long, his mouth quirking into a crooked grin. “If you must.”

“Are you after the crown?” 

Hongjoong doesn’t respond for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the bonfire, the flames reflected in his eyes. His right hand lies on the table beside his cup, and Chan watches as he taps a black-painted fingernail slowly, rhythmically, against the wood. Eventually, Hongjoong reaches into the pocket of his dark fur coat and pulls out a tarnished, bloodstained golden ring in the shape of a blazing sun, tossing it onto the table between them. Chan recognizes the ring; he’s seen it before, most notably on messengers representing the royal House of Helios, and he suspects that this ring in particular might have once belonged to whichever poor fool was tasked with presenting the House of Hades with their orders to kneel.

“I’m here to prevent this,” Hongjoong says at last, jerking his chin at the ring. “All we want is the freedom to not kneel to some king in a golden castle who knows nothing about our House or our people. So no, I don’t need a pretty crown. I’m not out to be a king, despite what everyone calls me.”

 _Pirate King_. Chan is familiar with the nickname, has used it himself, has heard it spoken in fearful whispers, hissed like poison, the seemingly respectful title slung as an insult.

“The House of Hades bows to no one,” Hongjoong continues. He looks side-long at Chan, his eyes flashing in the firelight. “Death will never be ruled by the sun.”

Chan nods slowly, because despite their differences in methods, despite Chan still seeing the crown as the prize in this fight, he understands Hongjoong’s meaning. What does any man want, after all, if not freedom? 

“What will you do, then?” Chan asks. “If you win?”

Hongjoong is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “We will burn it to the ground. So that every House can live freely, if they so choose.” He glances at Chan. “And you? What will you do, should you win the coveted golden throne?” 

“I don’t really want it for myself, if I’m being honest,” Chan says, letting his gaze drift to the fire. “I’ve been wondering lately whether there aren’t better ways to rule a kingdom than just a single man with a fancy crown giving out orders, no matter who that man might be.”

Chan sees Hongjoong eyeing him curiously and half-expects a question, but is instead surprised by Hongjoong lifting his cup and holding it out to Chan.

“To neither of us in a crown,” Hongjoong says, smirking.

Chan stares at him for a moment, unsure whether he’s being serious, and then he grins and lifts his own cup, striking it against Hongjoong’s with a resounding _clang_.

“To no crowns,” he says, and then they drink.

*

San opens his eyes to darkness and a warm arm slung over his chest. He feels snug, and pleasantly sore. He turns his head and finds Hyunjin lying beside him, light hair prettily mussed, lips parted in sleep. San watches him for a quiet moment, knowing that this calm is fleeting, that everything will be different as soon as he crawls out of bed, but for now he allows himself to just look, his chest strangely tight.

“Stay,” Hyunjin mumbled mere hours before, sweaty and spent and absurdly cute as he pawed at San, trying to get him to lie down, and San couldn’t bring himself to say no.

San takes a deep breath and gently lifts Hyunjin’s arm from his chest before slipping silently out from beneath the blankets, lowering Hyunjin’s arm carefully to the bed. He pauses for a few seconds as Hyunjin shifts sleepily, a small furrow forming between his brows, but Hyunjin doesn’t wake. San lets out a soft breath and swings his legs off the bed, wincing slightly as his bare feet touch the cool rug that forms the floor of Hyunjin’s tent. San fetches his clothes from around the tent, slightly amused by how far some of them were strewn the evening before, and gets dressed in the dark. He is just shrugging into his coat when he hears a muffled sound from the bed. He freezes.

“Not even gonna say goodbye?” Hyunjin’s voice is low, rough with sleep.

San briefly closes his eyes, and then turns back to the bed with a smile.

“I was going to let you sleep,” he says.

Hyunjin watches him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’d rather have the chance to say goodbye.”

An unwelcome emotion pangs in San’s chest. Wordlessly, he steps closer to the bed and leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Hyunjin’s lips. He feels Hyunjin arch up to meet him, a warm hand sliding into his hair, fingers curling around the nape of his neck.

“This isn’t goodbye,” San says quietly, their lips brushing as he speaks. “I’ll see you on the battlefield later.”

“You remember that promise?” Hyunjin’s fingers press into San’s skin, silently urgent.

“I remember,” San whispers, his stomach twisting. He kisses Hyunjin again, firmer this time, and then steps away. “Be safe,” he says, and then he leaves the tent, not allowing himself a backward glance.

The eastern horizon is just starting to lighten as San makes his way out of the camp and back towards the _Mist_ , hugging his coat tightly around his shoulders. He closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the peaceful morning quiet and trying to banish from his mind memories of a handsome soldier with gentle hands, and then he pauses, his nerves suddenly on edge.

He smells blood in the air.

Slowly, warily, San feels for the blade he keeps tucked at his waistband, so recently retrieved from the corner of Hyunjin’s tent, where it was flung at some point the night before. He lets his gaze trail with deliberate nonchalance over the ground, still dim beneath the trees in the pre-dawn shadows, until he catches sight of a hand lying outflung on the ground, half hidden by the brush, bloodied and motionless and attached to a body clad in the distinctive scarlet leather of the House of Ares.

San’s heart starts to race, his pulse rushing in his ears. He pats himself down with shaking hands, pretending to look for something he might have misplaced, and turns casually back towards camp, hoping he’s able to make it far enough to raise the alarm.

A stick snaps behind him, startling a bird from its roost, and San hears the unmistakable soft creak of a bow being drawn.

San bolts.

“ATTACK!” he screams at the top of his lungs, legs pumping, running as fast as he can back towards the camp. “YOU’RE UNDER ATTACK!” 

Something slams into San’s right shoulder from behind, hard enough to send him staggering, agony lancing through his arm, but he doesn’t stop, sprinting full speed for the camp. He can see it now, calm and still, the soldiers probably just now rousing, still in their tents.

“GET CHAN—!” is the last thing San yells before another arrow slams into his back, knocking him forward onto his hands and knees, palms scraping the dirt, and he manages one painful, agonized breath before his vision goes gray and he pitches forward, the world turning dark.

*

Hyunjin leaps out of bed the moment he hears San’s shout, already mostly awake, having been left alone to stare glumly at the ceiling of his tent after San’s departure. Panic burns into adrenaline in his veins, and Hyunjin throws on a vest purely as an afterthought before he grabs his dual blades and strides out of his tent, shaking his hair out of his face.

He sprints in the direction of San’s voice, already hearing calls of alarm coming from all around him as the camp starts to wake, and as soon as Hyunjin turns a corner and finds San, his heart stutters to a stop.

A masked, black-hooded figure stands over San’s motionless body, one hand tangled in the pirate’s dark hair, half-lifting him from the ground, the other bringing a blade to San’s bared throat. There are two arrows protruding from San’s back, and his eyes are closed, and Hyunjin’s breath shudders as he realizes that he is _still too far away_ — 

An arrow embeds itself into the assassin’s eye, sending the black-hooded figure toppling backwards and off of San.

Hyunjin’s head whips to the side, and he sees Jeongin lowering a bow, breathing hard, his eyes wide with horror.

“Is he—?” Jeongin starts to say, but Hyunjin is already racing for San, skidding to his knees beside him, pressing a trembling hand to San’s throat to feel for a pulse.

“Send a raven to the _Mist_ ,” he says to Jeongin, and he knows his voice is shaking, but he can’t help it, because San’s blood is on his hands and he can’t tell whether San is breathing and he thinks he feels a pulse but he’s not a gods-damned healer, he can’t _tell_ — 

Jeongin still hasn’t moved, apparently frozen in shock, and Hyunjin knows that he’s young, knows that he has the fewest kills among them all, but this isn’t the time for Jeongin to have a battle of conscience, so Hyunjin screams at him, “ _NOW!_ ” 

That sends Jeongin scampering further into camp, presumably heading for Bang Chan, so they can send word to the pirates that their crewmate is—that he needs— 

“San,” Hyunjin says, brokenly, patting San’s cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind. “San, please—”

And then San drags in a wet, shuddering breath, and Hyunjin’s heart clenches as hazy dark eyes open, unfocused and half-lidded.

“O-ow,” San chokes out, and Hyunjin lets out a stifled, disbelieving laugh. He hears a croak above him and looks up to see a raven already winging eastward, heading for the _Mist_.

“We’re getting you help,” Hyunjin says. “Just hold on, okay? Seonghwa will be here soon, we just sent word, just—just hold on.”

San doesn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut again, making Hyunjin’s stomach drop.

“Wait,” he says, patting San’s cheek again, harder this time. “No, wait, no, no, no, stay awake, San, please, you have to—” 

Footsteps approach quickly, and then Felix drops to his knees on San’s other side, his blond hair sleep-mussed and cheeks pale.

“Let me,” he says, reaching out with surprisingly steady hands. “Please.” And Hyunjin pulls back, lifting his hands away from San, his skin slick with blood. He watches as Felix pulls out a knife and slits open the darkly glistening fabric of San’s jacket around the two arrows. Felix frowns down at the wounds, and then his hands start to glow golden, and he presses his fingers gently to the place where the shafts are embedded into San’s skin.

“I can stop the bleeding, at least,” Felix says, “but I saw that Chan has already sent a raven to the House of Hades. We should wait until Seonghwa gets here to remove the arrows and properly heal him.”

“Okay,” Hyunjin says, a bit shakily, and he knows that he should get to his feet, grab his swords, and join the rapidly growing chaos he can hear bubbling to life in the camp around them, but he can’t take his eyes off of San’s face. San looks like he could be sleeping, the same way he looked before Hyunjin fell asleep beside him last night, and Hyunjin shoves that thought forcibly away, tries not to let his mind drift into thoughts of how this would never have happened if he hadn’t kissed San the night before, if he hadn’t led San back to his tent and then kept him jokingly, needily captive until morning.

“Are you two—oh, fuck.” Changbin skids to a halt beside them, still shirtless, a naked sword in hand. He looks sweaty and stressed and his eyes widen when he catches sight of San unconscious on the ground between them. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” Felix says, his voice strained. “Where’s Chan?”

“Middle of camp,” Changbin says. “There are a bunch of black-masked men coming out of the woods. Apparently they had the camp surrounded. Who knows how many of us would’ve woken up with our throats slit if—” He breaks off, looking strangely guilty; his eyes flicker to San and then back to Hyunjin. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hyunjin spits, and he doesn’t know exactly why he’s angry, but the rage burns nonetheless: rage at the nameless, faceless corpse who did this to San; rage at himself for being weak enough to let this happen to San; rage at the men attacking his camp, trying to kill him and the rest of his House like thieves in the night.

“We could use you, when you’re ready,” Changbin says. “We can’t hold them at bay forever, it’s gonna be—” Steel clangs in the distance, accompanied by rough shouts, and Changbin breaks off, glancing over his shoulder.

“Go,” Hyunjin says, clenching his hands into fists, blood staining the creases of his fingers. “I’ll be there soon.”

Changbin pats Hyunjin roughly on the head, probably trying to be encouraging, and then sprints back to the center of camp, kicking up dust in his wake. 

“How long do you think you can keep him stable?” Hyunjin asks Felix, whose brow is starting to bead with sweat, his blond hair clinging to his temples.

“A bit longer, I think,” Felix says through gritted teeth. “I just need to—”

“SAN-AH!” 

Hyunjin has never before been so glad to see a pirate.

Seonghwa rushes to San’s side, still trailing black smoke and a few jet-black feathers. He’s barefoot, wearing only dark trousers and a thin black tunic, his hair a mess. It’s the most informal Hyunjin has ever seen the sorcerer, and Hyunjin’s heart clenches at the gentle way Seonghwa brushes San’s hair back from his face before he relieves Felix, his hands already gleaming silver, so much brighter than Felix’s gentle glow.

“I didn’t know you could travel by magic like that,” Felix says, rather breathlessly, sitting back on his butt in the dirt. 

“I don’t often,” Seonghwa says, his brow furrowed with concentration. “It’s exhausting. But—” He breaks off, pressing his lips tightly together, and Hyunjin understands. 

_But San was dying._

In what feels like no time at all, Seonghwa has one arrow safely removed, tossing it almost irritably to the side, and has moved onto the other, hands gleaming, deft fingers coated in blood. He glances at Hyunjin, his dark eyes sharp.

“Go tell your commander that the crew of the _Mist_ are on their way,” Seonghwa says. “They’ll be here within the hour. Can you hold the camp until then?”

“I—I don’t know,” Hyunjin has to admit, and that—the knowledge that he has no idea what’s happening in the rest of the camp—is enough to get him to his feet, swords in hand. “We’ll make sure we do,” he says. “Let’s go, Felix.”

Felix finally looks away from Seonghwa’s hands on San’s back, where he was staring, mesmerized.

“Right,” he says, getting to his feet. “Thank you, Seonghwa. Will he—?”

“He’ll be fine,” Seonghwa says, his voice clipped. “Just go.”

And with one last, fleeting glance at San’s pale face, his heart in his throat, Hyunjin goes.

*

Felix’s world narrows to the clang of steel, the cries of the dying, and the pervasive smell of blood. He has never truly taken to battle, not like the other members of his House, always relying more on instinct and panic and years of hard training than any kind of joy for the challenge of a fight, never quite feeling that adrenaline high that Hyunjin and Chan and Changbin feel, bloodsoaked and invincible. 

A black-hooded man swings at Felix, and Felix skips out of the way before swiping his own sword up and across, his blade catching the man across the belly, slicing through flesh and worse. Felix turns away as the man falls, finding himself in a brief moment of respite near the edge of their camp, surrounded largely by his own comrades.

A strong hand grips Felix’s shoulder, and Felix whirls, raising his sword defensively before he realizes that it’s Chan.

“You all right?” Chan asks, a bit raspy, and he’s sweating and bloody and somehow radiant despite only being clad in a rough tunic and some trousers beneath his signature red coat. Felix is unreasonably relieved to see him.

“Fine,” Felix says, and then, a bit dumbly, “You?”

Chan lets out a choked laugh and ruffles Felix’s hair before turning back to the fight, stepping up to catch the blade of a black-masked enemy with ease, disarming the man before he shoves his sword into the attacker’s side, a precise strike that leaves Felix breathless and proud.

“Do we know who they are yet?” That’s Minho, stepping up beside them, spear in hand and blood spattering his skin.

“Not officially.” Chan kicks at the corpse of the man he just killed, scowling. “They don’t seem to be as dumb as others we’ve encountered. They bear no insignia, no allegiance. A perfect excuse for the culprit to claim he had nothing to do with it, should the mission fail.”

“Fucking Sangyeon,” Minho mutters.

“No,” Chan says. “No, this is Juyeon. This has the golden snake written all over it.” He lets out a sharp breath, and then turns his eyes back to the trees, where Felix can see the silhouettes of even more of the black-masked men, waiting in the shadows, looking for a place to strike. “Come on, then,” Chan says, hefting his broadsword. “They won’t kill themselves.”

Felix loses track of how long they fight. He vaguely notices the sun rising over the horizon, the strangely small details of his stomach starting to growl and his muscles growing sore, the rising number of bodies on the ground, many of them black-hooded and unfamiliar, some clad in red or with no armor at all, a sight that makes Felix’s throat go tight.

The sun has just broken over the trees when a sharp, piercing whistle cuts through the morning air, and the battle pauses for a moment as Captain Kim Hongjoong and about forty soldiers from the House of Hades step into view from the east, armed to the teeth, dark-armored and intimidating.

“Sorry we’re late,” Hongjoong says, his lips quirking into a feral grin, and then the House of Hades leaps into the fight, sending the greatly diminished force of black-hooded men scrambling for cover deeper into the trees.

Felix nearly collapses to his knees in relief, utterly exhausted, but just as he sees Chan turn to grin at Hongjoong, Felix catches sight of a lone black-masked man creeping closer, and before Felix can even call out a warning, the masked man swipes a spear from the ground and thrusts it into Chan’s side, twisting deep.

Chan staggers back with a choked breath, hands going automatically to the spear’s shaft. He shoves back on the spear, catching his attacker in the throat with butt of the spear, sending the black-masked man reeling, and then he falls.

Felix _screams._

*

Hongjoong can feel everything start to shatter as soon as he sees Chan fall.

He knows he can’t lose the leader of the House of Ares, not now, so he runs for the spot where he saw Chan get hit, broadsword in hand. He finds Chan slumped on the ground, the spear still in his side, blood pouring over his hands, and Felix standing over him, sword pointed shakily at the black-hooded attacker who got in the lucky hit.

“Start healing him,” Hongjoong says as he steps up beside Felix, turning all of his attention on the black-masked man.

“What—?”

“Now.” Hongjoong sees from the corner of his eye as Felix finally obeys, dropping to the ground by Chan’s side, and Hongjoong takes a deliberate step forward, his sword outstretched, pushing the masked attacker back, further away from where Felix is working.

There’s something off about the masked man. Hongjoong can sense a difference in the way he holds himself, the way he lifts his hands in apparent surrender, the way his sharp eyes meet Hongjoong’s from below his hood. It’s that look that makes Hongjoong’s spine tingle, and he narrows his eyes, his grip tightening on his sword.

“... Juyeon?” he says, only half-sure, but he becomes fully sure when the masked man suddenly stoops, snags an abandoned sword by the hilt, and lunges for Hongjoong. Hongjoong automatically steps back and aside, on the defensive. He slams his sword into Juyeon’s near the hilt, hoping to knock the blade out of the king’s hand, and he feels something in Juyeon’s wrist give, but before Hongjoong can press his advantage, he takes a step backwards and his ankle _twists_ , landing on the limb of a corpse he didn’t notice was there. Hongjoong curses and tries to recover, his ankle screaming, but Juyeon strikes first, aiming a wide swing towards Hongjoong’s right side. Hongjoong grits his teeth and lifts his blade as quickly as he can, managing to catch the blow with a sloppy counter that jars his entire arm, nerves jittering.

Hongjoong shoves Juyeon’s blade away as hard as he can and then surges forward, trying to catch the king off guard. He finally manages to land a glancing blow along Juyeon’s cheek, snapping Juyeon’s head to the side, and the black mask swings free, revealing a handsome face and a glimpse of scarlet-dyed hair beneath the dark hood.

Juyeon freezes for a moment, breathing hard, his cheek sliced open, painting his skin red.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hongjoong snaps, because he’s in pain and adrenaline is coursing through his veins and it seems like the only pertinent question he can think of right now.

Juyeon turns his head slowly back towards Hongjoong, his lips spreading into a smile that doesn’t reach his fiery eyes. 

“You know what they say about needing a job done right,” he says.

“So you turned to murder?” Hongjoong says.

“Like you wouldn’t have murdered me had we met on a battlefield today, and then called it noble,” Juyeon shoots back. “I wanted this done. No more lives lost than necessary. No giant battles. Just cutting the heads off the snakes to prevent a full-on rebellion.”

“And you really think the House of Ares wouldn’t have still rebelled if you succeeded in killing their leader?”

“I needed to try,” Juyeon snaps, and Hongjoong finally realizes how desperate he is. There are bruises beneath the king’s eyes; he looks a far cry from the beautiful, golden-and-white figure Hongjoong remembers seeing years ago, when the House of Helios first claimed the capital, at the time insisting that each House could govern themselves as they saw fit, so long as there was peace. King Juyeon then had been handsome, gleaming—the pride of his House. Now he looks wrecked, bloodied, exhausted. Hongjoong wonders grimly just what toll the last few years demanded of him.

“Your plan has failed, Juyeon,” Hongjoong says, pitching his voice softer, trying to see if he can break Juyeon with pity. Hongjoong’s ankle throbs, and his arm still feels weak, and he knows the king is a better swordsman than him; he’d like to get out of this without more of a fight, if he can. “And if you face us in the field, as we planned, then you will fail again.” Hongjoong hears a low cry of relief from behind him, and he chances a glance back, his chest swelling when he sees the wonderfully familiar form of Seonghwa leaning low over Chan, hands gleaming silver, joining Felix’s gently glowing golden power. “Chan is going to live,” Hongjoong says, with surety, turning back to Juyeon. “And now we will know to be even more careful for any other attempts like this. So.” He spreads his hands, indicating their surroundings, Juyeon’s remaining black-hooded men held at swordpoint by soldiers from both the House of Ares and the House of Hades. “What will you try now?”

Juyeon glowers at him, and then glowers over Hongjoong’s shoulder, where Hongjoong knows Seonghwa is healing Chan, at least to the point of stabilizing him. ( _“Gut wounds are the worst_ ,” Hongjoong remembers Seonghwa grumbling to him one night, his hands still drenched in Yunho’s blood after a scouting mission went foul years ago.)

One of the black-hooded men nearest to them, kept on his knees at swordpoint by one of Chan’s men, twitches slightly, his hands flexing at his sides. Hongjoong glances at him, suddenly suspicious, but he has no time to dwell on it.

“You don’t know that he’s going to live,” Juyeon says, his lips curling into a crooked smile. “If the sorcerer dies, then so does he.” And then he produces a small, gleaming dagger from within his sleeve, grasps the hilt, and heaves it past Hongjoong’s head, too fast for Hongjoong to intercept.

“ _NO!_ ” Hongjoong screams, his heart dropping in horror, but as soon as he turns, terrified of finding a dagger in his husband’s back, he instead finds the dagger stuck harmlessly into the grass just beyond where Chan is lying, and Seonghwa tugged down securely over Chan’s chest, Chan’s bloody hand curled white-knuckled into Seonghwa’s shirt as Chan fixes a fiery glare on Juyeon.

Hongjoong lets out a shuddery breath of relief, and immediately turns back, livid, to face Juyeon. With barely a second thought, he raises his sword and prepares to bring it down two-handed across Juyeon’s chest, his blood burning, but then a hoarse voice cries out.

“WAIT!” 

Hongjoong falters, startled, as the captured black-hooded man staggers to his feet and steps between Juyeon and Hongjoong, ripping off his mask and hood to reveal another familiar face.

“Gods, is the entire House of Helios here today?” Hongjoong snaps, his fury temporarily abated enough for him to lower his sword.

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sangyeon mutters, his brow dark, arms partially extended to form a barrier between Hongjoong and Juyeon. 

“He almost killed my sorcerer,” Hongjoong says, lifting his sword again to point it over Sangyeon’s shoulder, directly at Juyeon’s face. “I will not let that stand.”

“I know,” Sangyeon says grimly. “And that wasn’t the _plan_ ,” he says, shooting a venomous look over his shoulder at his king. “You would’ve had every right to seek retribution.” 

“What about the attempt on the commander’s life, then?” Hongjoong says. “Or the attempt on my own? Do we not deserve to seek retribution?” 

“Captain—”

“No,” Hongjoong snaps. “You don’t get to call the shots anymore. Your plans have failed. Your men have lost. You cannot possibly hope to defeat us in the shadows like this, just as you cannot hope to defeat us on the battlefield. You are outnumbered, and outfought. Your fleet is weaker. Your army is smaller. You cannot rely on the support of the other Houses, not least of all because they will be unable to muster themselves so soon. At this point, you have one option, if you want to keep your lives.” Hongjoong takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing, sword still held steady. He makes sure to address himself to Juyeon, who looks pale and sullen, his cheek still awash in blood. “Rescind the fealty orders. Relinquish the throne. And give us Lee Sangyeon.”

Juyeon looks shocked for the first time that day. “What—?”

“He ordered me killed,” Hongjoong says flatly. He flicks a glance to Sangyeon, who watches him with a grim expression, apparently not surprised by the demand for his life. “We will deal with him properly in the House of Hades.”

“No.” Juyeon grasps Sangyeon by the elbow, suddenly looking terrified, tugging Sangyeon back and away from Hongjoong. “No, you can’t have him.”

“Juyeon-ah—” Sangyeon says gently, but Juyeon jerks his arm.

“That was never discussed,” Juyeon hisses. “We knew this might fail, but you never said—I never thought—” 

“It makes sense. And I thought it might come to this, if we failed, I just didn’t… I didn’t want you to worry.” Sangyeon sounds resigned, calm, and if anything, that makes Juyeon all the more frantic. 

“I’m not letting them kill you,” he snaps, and then turns to Hongjoong, his eyes burning. “Fine. The fealty orders are gone. Consider them annulled as soon as we’re able to get back to the capital and make it official. And then—” Juyeon hesitates, glancing at Sangyeon, who is watching him with wide eyes. “—the crown is yours. Should you want it. But in exchange, my House will stay safe, and alive, and together. You cannot have Lee Sangyeon, as you cannot have me, or any of the other members of my council. We will leave the palace and the throne, but we will leave it alive and unharmed. Agreed?”

Hongjoong considers this. He stares down Sangyeon, and then Juyeon, and then makes a point of turning to find Chan, who is being held gingerly upright by Seonghwa and Felix. Chan’s face is pale and tight with pain, but his eyes are clear as they meet Hongjoong’s, and he gives the barest nod, which is enough.

“Agreed,” Hongjoong says, and finally lowers his sword.

Sangyeon seems to deflate, his shoulders slumping, and Juyeon quickly drags him away from Hongjoong, holding him tightly even as some of Chan’s men surround them, holding them at spear point.

“Take them and the other prisoners to the far edge of the camp and bind them there,” Hongjoong says, feeling a little strange giving orders to men of the House of Ares, but the men chorus a sharp “Yes, sir,” and obey easily enough.

Hongjoong steps backwards, his ankle still throbbing, and finally collapses to the ground near Chan’s feet, letting out a long sigh.

“You were never planning to take Sangyeon, were you?” Chan says quietly.

“No.” Hongjoong watches the ex-king and his advisor be led away. “But I wanted Juyeon to feel like he won something in the deal. It makes him a bit less likely to immediately go back on it.”

Chan grunts, and then winces, his hand pressed to his abdomen. 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says, his voice low. He refuses to look at Chan, a bit concerned he won’t be able to speak if he does. “For saving Seonghwa’s life. I owe you more than you could ever know.”

“We’re even, then,” Chan says lightly. “Since he saved mine.”

“If you two are quite done,” Seonghwa says, his voice pitched deliberately light, “then we should get the commander into the healing tent so that I can finish keeping him alive.”

Hongjoong turns just enough to snag Seonghwa’s hand in his own, interlocking their fingers and squeezing.

“Yes, sir,” he says, and basks in the warmth of Seonghwa’s smile.

*

_one year later_

Hyunjin leans back against the stone wall of the acropolis and lets out a sigh, admiring the way his breath crystallizes in the air above his head, briefly blocking out the stars. He has no idea how long he’s been waiting, but it’s long enough for his fingers to grow cold, despite how far he’s shoved them into the pockets of his new fur coat. He quietly curses winter, and his lack of forethought to bring along gloves, and pirate boyfriends who insist on meeting up months after your last tryst in the middle of the gods-damned night because their ship hit some weather so they’re going to be _late_ but they still want to _see you_ and it won’t be that cold _anyway_ , Hyunjinnie, just wear warmer clothes— 

“You look chilly.”

Hyunjin’s lips curl into a smile immediately, an involuntary reaction to hearing Choi San’s voice.

“Come warm me up, then,” Hyunjin says, turning his head to watch San saunter towards him, graceful and beautiful, bundled into his own dark fur coat.

“You’ve gotten cheesier since I saw you last,” San says, narrowing his eyes, but he can’t quite hide his smile. He lowers his fuzzy hood, revealing longer hair than Hyunjin remembers, partly tied back into a tiny tail at the back of his head. Hyunjin steps forward to meet him, reaching up to tug lightly on the little ponytail.

“This is pretty,” Hyunjin says, his heart thumping as San leans into him, their lips brushing.

“Not as pretty as yours,” San says, curling a hand into Hyunjin’s long hair and tugging in turn, and Hyunjin kisses him for that, because he knows how much San loves his long hair, how much he whined that one time Hyunjin threatened to cut it because it kept getting in his eyes while he was training.

“How’s your great ruling Commander?” San asks once they break apart, Hyunjin already starting to feel a bit warmer.

“Busy,” Hyunjin says, wrapping his arms around San’s waist, content just to hold him. “And grumpy. Chan didn’t sign up for a crown, but it turns out he kind of ended up with one in everything but name. He’s still not too happy that Hongjoong voted him Head of the Council.”

“Yeah, I think Hongjoong-hyung’s pretty pleased with himself about that,” San says with a grin.

“How was your trip?” Hyunjin leans in to press a kiss to San’s jaw, enjoying the way San arches cat-like into the touch. “Do any good pirating?” 

“We do only the best pirating,” San says, and Hyunjin would be irritated if he weren’t already used to San being vague about exactly what goes on when the _Mist_ leaves harbor. “Has there been any movement from Helios recently?” 

Hyunjin frowns slightly at that, pulling away. “Not since the last letter I sent,” he says. “Jacob still attends Council meetings, and Sunwoo and Eric have taken up residence in the capital, but other than that, they’ve been… quiet.”

“Should we be concerned?” San asks, his voice soft.

“Not yet,” Hyunjin says, “but Chan is keeping an eye on them. We’ll keep your House updated.”

“Good.” San links his fingers behind Hyunjin’s neck, tugging him down into a firm kiss. “Now come on. I have my quarters to myself on the ship tonight, and I intend to make full use of them.”

“But Wooyoung always looks like he wants to murder me when I spend the night on the ship,” Hyunjin says, half-whining as he lets himself be dragged away from the acropolis and towards the harbor.

“He’s just protective, he would never.”

Hyunjin stops in his tracks, tugging San to a stop and reeling him back into his arms.

“What?” San says, trying to hide his grin.

“Thank you for coming home,” Hyunjin says quietly, a tradition between the two of them, formed by Hyunjin’s constant fretting when San leaves on the _Mist_ and San’s poorly hidden concern when Hyunjin has to march out with the armies. San’s expression softens. He brushes his fingers through Hyunjin’s hair, then leans in to kiss Hyunjin again, soft and open-mouthed.

“You’re welcome,” San breathes, and then he links their hands and leads Hyunjin down the hill towards the sea.

*

**Author's Note:**

> falls over
> 
> thank you for reading - please consider leaving a kudos or a comment, if you enjoyed the ride!
> 
> come yodel with me on twt if you like~
> 
> [main account](https://twitter.com/aintitnifty) | [writing account](https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb)
> 
> now with a Russian translation courtesy of [Anneren](https://twitter.com/Anneren7), found [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/10257425)!
> 
> and [hizu](https://twitter.com/hizuillu) drew me the [most GORGEOUS illustration](https://twitter.com/hizuillu/status/1363597520593694722) for this story, please go give all the love to sanjin, they're absolutely gorgeous and i love them and am eternally grateful. ♡


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